


Love is not an equation, it is not a contract, and it is not a happy ending

by Candace_X_Chambers



Series: World Games Series [1]
Category: Football RPF, Hockey RPF, Hunger Games (2012) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Always Secret Plans, Boys Kissing, F/M, First Love, Hockey/Football (Soccer) Mix, M/M, Marcel is psychotic, Minor Character Death(s), Multi, Pining, Protective Cristiano, Secret Plans, True Love, blackmailing, sweet Sid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candace_X_Chambers/pseuds/Candace_X_Chambers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There seemed to be no hope in a world like this. Pray all you want, they say, no God will help you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Never In Our Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259197) by [lunasenzanotte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by the Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins. I've wanted to write this for a while, but I never got around to it. This is also inspired by the work above. I didn't know this had a fan base (though not very large I assume) until I read that (it was quite good so if you don't like this one you should go read that).
> 
> If you have any questions, concern, or opinions, leave them in the comments and I'll get back to you ASAP.  
> This goes unbeta'd, so forgive me for any mistakes.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. I make no money from this.

In the year 3015, the world was half way into losing a war against the power of the mighty Australians. Three months and two years later, they successfully took over all the world with the help of Russia, Germany, England, and the United States of America.

On October 21st, 3017, no more than seven months into their victory, then president Michael Richardson created a tournament that tests the strengths of their children, aptly named the 'World Games'.

USA, Canada, Portugal, Argentina, England, Germany, Spain, Sweden, Russia, and Uruguay all had an annual reaping. Sending two boys into the World Games.

In the ninty-ninth Game, Luis Suarez from Uruguay had been diagnosed with a mental disorder after he consistently bit his opponents. He was killed by the Game makers (though they deny it), and his country was pulled from the games and replaced by France.

The one hundredth game is projected to be the best of them all. One hundred years of entertainment for the Capital (held in Sydney, Australia), one hundred years of support for the wealthy countries (USA, Germany, Russia, England), and one hundred years of endless torture, unfair treatment, and starvation for everyone else.

There seemed to be no hope in a world like this. Pray all you want, they say, no God will help you.

~

Sidney Crosby rakes his fingers through his hair in an attempt to keep the curls down. When that fails, he sighs,turning around to face his baby sister. Taylor technically isn't a baby because she's ten years old, but he all always call her that.

"You ready to go?" Trina, his mother, asks in her soft voice.

Sid pats Taylor's head, "Ready as I'll ever be."

Sidney already won the Games three years ago. He had to kill three tributes. Two from Argentina, the other from Spain. He hadn't wanted to, but he had to come back for Taylor, for his mother. His father, Troy, died two months after his sister's birth and he was the only one who could take care of them.

Since he already won, Sidney can't be chosen again. But he still has to sit with the other victors and see who he'll be mentoring. He also has a friend, James Neal, who turns eighteen in a few months, making this his last reaping.

The commons area in which the event takes place isn't to far away, taking them a mere ten minutes to walk there. Sidney tries not to look at the twelve years old who are entering their name for the first time, or the families on the sidelines, tears streaking down their cheeks and hands pressed together as they pray. It always breaks his heart to see mothers wait to hear whether or not their boy's name will be called, little sisters looking confused and sad, fathers (if they have one) trying to be strong when they're just as scared.

Sid gives his mother a hug and his sister a pat on the head before walking over to the victor's circle. The only other people who sit there are Mario Lemieux (his mentor) and Marc-Andre Fleury (he won two years ago under Sid's mentoring).

"Everybody welcome!" Nathalie Lemieux, Mario's wife, announces with sadness in her eyes as usual, "I am honored to welcome you to the one hundredth World Games!" She smiles apologetically, "I know we are _all_ very excited!" She pauses licking her lips nervously, "Since this is such a ... _special_ occasion, President Michael Richardson and Head Game maker David Beckham have informed me that .. one of the previous victors will be rereaped along with a new tribute."

Sidney clenches his jaw shut to keep it from falling open. He had such a hard time time three years ago. He can't go through it again. He already has to many nightmares. He's gotten more than enough blood on his hand (literally, he left the arena soaked unit). He can't leave his family .. Not again .. they already suffered ...

But he doesn't want Mario or Marc to go back in either. Mario has health problems and a family. Marc just had a baby with his wife, Veronique, and he's so innocent and sweet and .. and ..

"The first tribute is .." Nathalie reaches her hand into the bowl, shuffling through the three pieces of paper. The nerves showing in her eyes as she slowly unfolds the paper, "M ... M .. M-Mario Lemieu-ux."

Mario frowns, grabbing the arms of the chair to help himself up.

Sidney instantly reacts, springing up from his chair, "I volunteer!"

"Sid-" Mario begins to protests, but Sidney grabs his hand.

"Its alright."

Sidney's heart beats furiously and his legs tremble a bit as he walks onto the stage. He's not going to let his emotions show. He won't let the Capital know the hollering and crying of his baby sister is once again breaking him.

Nathalie hugs him, "Thank you so much."

"I'd never let him go through this again." Sid mumbles as she pulls away,

Mario's wife wipes the tear from the corner of her eye and reaches into the second bowl, "And the other tribute is .. Claude Giroux!"

Claude, a small ginger that's only a year younger than Sidney, walks wth shaky legs and panic set into his eyes. Sid nods sympathetically, remembering how he himself looked, how Marc had looked, which wasn't much different.

The tributes shake hands upon Nathalie's request. Sidney shows absolutely no emotion. Especially not when his best friend James rushes over to Trina to help with a sobbing and trashing Taylor.

"No again! I can't lose my Sid again!" She hollers.

Sidney just bites the inside of his cheek. He's doing this for Mario, the man who saved his life before, and he'll do it again.

A guard takes Sidney by the elbow, ushering him into the back of a van. Claude is forced in violently, mumbling pleas in French.

"Please, please. This all has to be a mistake! I-I can't fight for my life!"

The guard slams the door closed, making Giroux wince.

"It'll be okay .. Just calm down. If you keep freaking out, they'll sedate you until we get to our night quarters. Trust me, you'll _need_ this time more than you think." Sidney consoled the distressed man.

Claude sniffles, "S-Sedate me? That's legal?"

Sid half smiles, "Claude, they're making us fight for our lives. I highly doubt they care whether or not that's legal."

The ginger nods, "I know. I'm just .. I'm so scared. I don't wanna die."

Sidney grabs his hand, "Nobody does. Just .. don't think about dying. Think about coming home."

Claude wipes his face, offering a small smile of gratitude.

"Now get some sleep. You'll need it." Sid instructs, crossing his arms over his chest and shutting his eyes.

"Sid?"

"Hm?"

"Good luck."

"You too."

...

Cristiano Ronaldo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Rereaping former victors? Isn't the point of winning to never go back into the arena? Leave it to the Capital to come up with some stupid shit like this.

"The first tribute is," Carvina Carvalho, the wife of the infamous victor Ricardo Carbalho who won because the man he loved gave up his life so Ricky could come home (talk about awkward for his wife ..).

"Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro!"

Without missing a beat, Cris springs up, pointing a stunning smile at the camera as he struts to the stage.

"And the second tribute is ... Joāo Pereira!"

The two shakes hands before being lead into a van, Cris blows a kiss to no one in particular and wipes an imaginary tear from his eye (showing off for the cameras of course).

Joāo snarls at him once the doors are shut, "Don't think winning the Capital over will win you the Games again. Because it won't."

Cristiano smirks, "That is no way to make friends."

"I don't want you as a friend fuck face."

"Good," Cris chuckles, "Then I promise that you'll be my first kill. But don't worry. It'll be slow, painful, and you'll wish you _never_ disrespected Cristiano Ronaldo."

Joāo snorts but keeps quiet the rest of the ride.

If theres one thing to know about Cristiano, its that he _never_ breaks a promise.

...

Nicklas Bäckström stands beside previous victor Sebastian Larsson with his head up high. Nobody will believe him, but Nicky is going to win. He doesn't _think_ he will, doesn't _hope_ he will. Nope. He may not be big, and he may not be strong. But he is smart, fast, and good with weappns. That is why he is going to win over the Capital. He is going to kill his last opponent. He is going to look every family he encounters on the Victory Tour in the eyes and tell them he killed their son. Then he will go home, hug his mother, and he'll be done with the Games until next year.

And there's nothing anyone can do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. That was a lot of words and some long paragraphs. If you actually took the time to read this, I thank you.
> 
> I know the 'World Games' is kinda lame, but I couldn't think of anything else. I will accept suggestions though ..
> 
> Don't be afraid to ask questions or voice your concerns. I appreciate ALL feedback, especially constructive criticism. I'm still kind of working out some of the kinks as I write.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for showing interests in my unusual mixing of people. I know its odd, but I've always written about odd things.
> 
> Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this world, you don't have emotions, emotions get you killed.

Chapter 2:

_Sidney stepped onto the plane after his fellow tribute, his friend, Kris Letang, who wasn't nearly as nervous as he is,_

_"Hello Kris, Sidney. I'm Mario Lemieux and I'll be your mentor." He guides his tributes to the seats to sit down. "I'm sure you're nervous as hell, which is normal. Honestly, I'd be a little scared if you weren't." He pauses, "Only one of you will come back alive, and thats if your lucky." He looks at them both, "However, I don't want you to think about that until you are literally dying. You need to stay relaxed. You absolutely can not worry about anything or anyone, and you can not be scared of death. That will get you killed in this world."_

_Sidney's brows knit together, "But how can we not be scared when we could die in -"_

_"Don't think about dying. Don't think about not coming home. Because in the end, everyone comes home .. Just not in the same way."_

_Kris blinks rapidly, "Well then .. what do we think about?"_

_Mario grabs both of their hands, "Surviving."_

The door opens with a loud creak, making Sidney's eyes pop open. He hadn't been sleeping, but he wanted to show Claude he didn't have to worry or be scared. That will get you killed in this world.

The tributes are wordlessly dragged out of the van and all but shoved up the stairs and into the plane that would take them to the Capital. The walls of the plane are as white on the outside as it is on the inside. There are two rows of ten seats along each side. On their right is the cockpit. Down the aisle on their left are four bedrooms, one for each person. Claude's eyes flicker around and he nervously bites his lips. Sidney, on the other hand, lays down across the plush seats, extending his body fully and relaxing as much as possible.

Marc comes in from the cockpit, "Hello Claude. I'm Marc-Andre Fleury, but you can call me Marc. I'll be your mentor."

"Its .. its n-nice to meet yo-ou." Claude says

"Stop stuttering kid. The Capital won't like that." Mario says, plopping down in the seat next to Sid's feet.

"I wasn't much different." Marc says,'"If anything, I was more of a mess than he is."

"Yeah. But I was your mentor. See how well I've shaped you into this wonderful man? Veronique should send me a thank you letter." Sidney chirps, making Mario chuckle.

Fleury's nose wrinkles up in pretend disgust as he grabs his tribute's elbow to pull him into one of the bedrooms, "Whatever. Claude and I are going to talk some strategy so we can beat you."

"In your dreams sweetheart." Sid says as the door closes behind them.

"I'm not going to let that happen." Mario speaks quietly.

Sidney sits up, pulling his knees to his chest, "I know."

"I-I .. I don't know how to thank you for volunteering. I mean .. I .. I-"

Sid grabs his mentor's hand, "Just don't let me get killed out there. That's all the thanks I need."

Lemieux nods, squeezing his hand, "But what if-"

"Don't _even_. I won three years ago because you told me not to think about death, but about surviving. Unless you're saying that everything that helped me win the Games was a load of bullshit." Sidney interrupts.

Mario grins, "I know .. its just .. I love you. You know that right?"

"I wouldn't be the one going back in there if i didn't."

~

"Cristiano, good to see you again." Fábio Coentrāo, his mentor, says, shaking his hand.

Cris smiles, "I wish it were under different circumstances."

"To bad I'm not your mentor this time." Ricardo Carvalho, his previous mentor, squeezes his shoulder.

Joāo walks by them with a snarl and his fists clenched.

"Still root for me to win, yes?" Cristiano jokes.

Carvina gives him a one armed hug, "You know I will."

"Get some sleep and we'll talk strategy in the morning." Fábio instructs.

Cris didn't have to look at his watch to know it was 9:20 p.m., exactly four hours from the reaping. But he does it anyways and pretends to be shocked, "I'm going to need my beauty rest if I'm going to win over some Capital hearts."

Carvina giggles, kissing his cheek, "Goodnight dear."

Cristiano quickly goes to his room, which is adjacent to Joāo's. He should be upset with himself for having to fake around his friends ..

Cris snorts to himself. Friends? What friends? Those people would never give a damn about him if he never entered the Games. He'd still be that little orphan who sold his body to powerful, older men and women to survive. Ricardo and Carvina are selfish, soulless products from the Capital. They don't know what it feels like to fight for their life.

And Fábio. Fábio, Fábio, Fábio .. Always so seemingly innocent. But he's really just as heartless and self obsessed as they are. He used to be nice, he used to care. Then he won the Games and went to the Capital and became like _all the others_.

Cristiano doesn't trust anyone. Can't afford to. Not in life, and not in the Games. Just like last time, he'll charm his way to the arena, he'll kill when he has to, and he'll win. Then everyone will pretend to like him, he'll force a smile, and everything will be the same.

Its always been tat way. And it'll always be that way. In this world, you don't have friends, they'll stab you in the back. In this world, you don't trust anyone because everyone wants to live and will do anything to keep their heart going. In this world, you don't love, love hasn't been a real word in a hundred years.

In this world, you don't have emotions, emotions get you killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Sidney's dad died, Mario became like a father to him. He basically raised both of the Crosby children along side his own for a long time.
> 
> Cristiano's father died when he was little, and his mother left for unknown reasons when he turned thirteen. After that he became a prostitute and went into the Games not long afterwards ..
> 
> Just a little clarification for anyone who needed it.
> 
> Thank you for everyone who has taken the time to read this. I've worked very hard and I hope it lives up to your standard. lease ave any questions or concerns in the comments and I'll get back to you. Thank you for everything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this is from a quote by Jodi Picoult. I probably should've said that earlier, but it slipped my mind.
> 
> For anyone who doesn't already know, President Michael Richardson is an OC.

Chapter 3:

Sidney and Mario don't talk strategy. He already knows what his mentor will say, he's heard it (and used it) before. Another time would be useless.

They wait until Marc-Andre and tribute are done with their pre-Capital discussion before settling into Claude's room to watch the reaping on TV. Sidney is slightly bothered because he knows most, and somewhat likes, of the other mentors in different countries.

France is shown first picking Stephane Da Costa and Lucas Digne.

"Aw! I like Steph!" Marc pouts.

Sidney snorts, "I promise not to kill him for you."

Marc chuckles, "Deal."

Next is Argentina. Carlos Tevez and Lionel Messi are picked. But Michael Híguaín steps in for Leo, who was Higuain's tribute the year prior to Sidney's victory. Mario makes a clucking noise with his tongue that means he knows Michael or doesn't like Messi (who does?)

After that is the US, selecting Keith Ballard and Jozy Altidore.

"Not Keith." Marc groans, covering his face with his hands.

"Do you like everyone?" Sid asks playfully,

Spain follows with Jesus Navaz and Sergio Busquets. England has two volunteers, Nathan Walker and Steven Gerrard. Sidney can't help but to roll his eyes. Steven is a self centered piece of shit who thinks he's God because he won at the ripe age of twelve. The only reason he won was because the Capital loves him and sponsors were giving him _everything_ he needed.

Sidney turns his head to look at Marc, who is equally disgusted. He opens his mouth to say something, but his attention is snapped back to the TV when Carvina Carvalho says Cristiano Ronaldo.

Sid feels pathetic the way his heart flutters and he slowly melts as he watches every graceful movement the man on the television makes. The beautiful smile he flashes for the camera makes Sidney's breath hitch.

He completely forgot there were other people in the room until the German flag appeared on the screen.

Sidney blushes brightly, "Sorry."

Marc nudges him, "We all get crushes. No big deal."

"Just don't let it affect your game." Mario says.

Sidney opens his mouth to say something, but freezes when the woman escort on the screen announces the first German tribute.

"Marcel Goc."

No, no, no .. This has to be some kind of sick, sick joke. This man shouldn't be allowed back into the arena, or near anyone for that matter.

Marcel won the Games seven years ago, everyone knew it was going to happen because he's a beast of a man. He killed nearly everyone with his bare hands (literally _bare hands_ ).After finishing the ninty-third World Games off with a bang after breaking every bone in Marc Staal's body and cutting out his heart to show the camera, he was deemed mentally disturbed and still spends his life in an institution of the insane.

Well, now he'll be in the arena with nineteen other people. How fantastic.

"We're fucked." Claude says sadly.

No one disagress.

The escort on the screen waits for the loud cheering to die down before saying the next name, "Mario Götze."

Sweden comes next, selecting Nicklas Bäckström and Sebastian Larsson. Sid feels bad for Sebastian barely made it of there the first time. Its unlikely he'll do it again. And Nicklas looks rather small, so it's unlikely Sweden will have a Victor this year.

Last but not least (or maybe it is least) is Canada. Sidney hides his face in Mario's shirt. They most likely got a shot of Taylor and he can't see that right now, it would break him.

His mentor is pulling him up before he realizes its over, guiding him into Sid's room where Mario gently places him on the bed.

"I love you son."

"I love you too dad."

The older man places a kiss on his forehead before leaving. Sidney allows himself to feel a little happy.

Because tomorrow, it all begins.

...

Cristiano paces around his room like a mad man.

Marcel. Goc. Marcel fucking Goc. Why would they allow this animal to leave his institution? Why did they even put his name in the bowl?

"Fucking Capital." Cris growls.

He misses the tribute for Sweden, but who cares? The only truly successful Victor they ever had was Zlatan Ibrahimovic. But they'd never send a man with only one arm into the arena.

Well, then again-

Cris's thought is stopped by the woman on the screen - Natalie? Natalya? - who represents Canada stuttering out Mario Lemieux's name.

Not even a millisecond later, a boy who looks no older than sixteen volunteers for, who Cristiano assumes, was his mentor.

Cris slowly sinks down onto the couch, his brain racking to try and remember what his name is. But nothing comes. His face is definitely familiar. 

Cris smirks as he remembers how the young Canadian boy would scrunch his nose or roll his eyes whenever Gerrard tried to start some stupid shit (who does Steven think he is? he's from England for fuck's sake).

The next kid (Cris doesn't really care what his name is because he doesn't look like he'll make it past the first day) looks scared shitless. While the other guy has a face of stone, even as a baby screams from the crowd.

The Capital's flag waves on the screen, followed seconds later by President Michael Richardson, a fifty year old man with gold contacts and a full head of smooth, brown hair.

"Hello citizens of the world," Richardson says in his stupid accent that makes Cris's skin crawl, "I know that you are as excited for this year's Games as I am."

Cristiano snorts, "Bullshit."

"I am proud to announce that this year's tributes will land in the Capital early tomorrow morning." The President grins - fucking _grins_ \- "All the events after that will be the same. But, after the tributes enter the arena, there will be some .. altercations to make the one hundredth World Games the best of them all."

Cris shuts off the TV and slams the remote down to prevent himself from throwing it at the wall.

"Fuck the Capital." He growls.

Fuck. Them. All.  
...

Nicklas, Sebastian, Zlatan, and Henrik Lundqvist skip watching the reaping so they can sit on Nicky's bed while eating the Capital's finest Roman Noodles. Nicky doesn't have to use chopsticks while he eats, but he does it anyways.

"Whose your favorite tribute to ever win?" Nicky asks, "Besides Zlatan and Henrik, of course."

Sebastian smirks, "Coentrāo."

Nicklas almost chokes on a noodle, "Fábio Coentrāo? Really?"

"He is the smartest guy to _ever_ go into the arena." Sebastian objects.

"Because he stayed on top of the Cornucopia the until there was just one more person and curb stomped him into the ground? That makes him smart?" Henrik asks, raising his eyebrows.

"No, it makes him a fucking genius." Zlatan says.

Henrik rolls his eyes, "Then who's _your_ favorite, Nicky? I'm sure you have a more reasonable answer."

Bäckström thinks it over for a second, "Crosby. Definitely."

"That awkward Canadian kid?" Sebastian snorts, "And you're making fun of me?"

"Crosby won when he was fourteen and actually _killed_ a few people." Nicklas points out.

"He's like, sixteen now, right? It'd be a shame for him to go back in." Henrik says.

"He mentored Fleury the year after he won, there's no way he'd let his mentor go into the arena again. He'd be a piece of shit if he did." Zlatan says.

Sebastian lightly elbows him, "I would've volunteered if you were called."

"Yeah, and what about me fuck face?" Henrik questions.

"I would hope someone killed you soon so that I wouldn't have to look at your ugly mug again." Larsson jokes.

Nicky awkwardly stares at his noodles. It kind of sucks not to be close with any of them. But its okay, he'll have plenty of time to bond next year.

"So," Zlatan begins, "what do you think your strengths are?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope that it wasn't to terrible and it was worth your time. Any feedback would make my day.
> 
> Please forgive me for any mistakes. I didn't proof read this because im eager to start the next chapter (which I'm working on as you read this).
> 
> Once again, thank you.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

David Beckham's fingers move so fast it's nearly a blur. Wayne Gretzky stares at him with a spark of curiosity.

"Is there something I can help you with?" David asks, not even looking up to see who it is.

"Richardson wants me to check up on you to see how the arena is doing." Wayne explains, crossing his arms over his torso.

Beckham peers at the other man through his lashes, a devilish smirk on his face, "Its coming along quite well. The .. finishing touches will be added on later this afternoon."

Wayne chuckles darkly, returning the smile, "that's going to make the President's day."

Gretzky leaves without another word. Neither of them knew Vice President Roger Goodell had been listening on the whole conversation.

 _The Games are going to be interesting this year,_ Roger thinks as he goes back into his own office make a phone call.

~

Sidney woke up at five a.m., leaving an hour and a half to get ready.

He trudges into the shower, turning the heat on the intense his muscles and make him relax. The shampoo and conditioner have a sweet coconut smell while the body soap is a weird honey that he really doesn't want to use but really has no choice because the one thing the Capital does not have is soap variety.

The towels are so soft and warm - he believes them to be made of cotton from a factory in Egypt, but he may be wrong - as he wraps it around his body. He almost doesn't want to take it off, u he knows he has to.

Sid picks out a simple, black button up and jeans that fit him nicely. It really doesn't matter what he puts on because he all be stripped down to his skivvies and violated by his stylists once he gets in their hands.

He groans to himself. He hated his stylists last time. Such greedy little fuckers. They always complained about how terrible their lips were because they ran out of purple lipstick or rainbow eye shadow, always gossiping about the tiniest rumor. Ugh, it makes him sick.

Sidney is drying his hair off with his towel when the door opens. He doesn't have to check to know who it is.

Sid tosses the towel onto the ground, "Hey Mario."

Mario sits on the bed next to him, "You got this, okay?" 

"My stylists better not be freaks. I'll kill them."

Mario chuckles, "Its out of my hands sweetheart."

Sid stands up and drags himself into the bathroom to blow dry his hair. "How much time do we have?" 

"Ten minutes." 

Sighing, he puts the blow dryer on high and does his best to make himself look nice. 

~ 

Sidney manages to dry his hair for the most part and slick it back withmmal hairgel when the guards bust in and drag him out. He's practically shoved into a limo that will take them to the airport. 

Mario puts his arm around the teenager's shoulders and puts a hand on his knee, "You got this." 

Sid relaxes into the warmth of the man sitting next to him, "I know."

~ 

The ride takes sometime between ten and fifteen minutes. Mario grabs his wrist as they get out the car. Sidney tries not to be shocked that the Capital's citizens look freakier than last time. Apparently animal face paint is in right now. 

Marc ''accidentally'' knocks into him as they go into the larger building they'll be staying in. 

Nathalie shoves Marc put of her way (playfully of course .. or well maybe) and pulls Claude over to walk next to her, "Here's the plan, you're going to go in there, file some paper work. Then, I'll show to your rooms. You'll have five minutes to get adjusted to your surroundings before your stylists will come in and make you look gorgeous. After that, you'll be taken to your chariot where you'll do the parade."

"Then what?" Claude asks, not nearly as nervous as yesterday.

"That'll be up to your mentors dear."

Sid and Claude are taken to the front desk where they get finger printed and handed a clipboard. Its the simple stuff. Full name, date of birth, home town, family members, address.

When he comes to the last question, what's your sexual orientation, he freezes, his pen hovering above the circles.

 _Why do they even care?_ Sidney thinks.

He glances over at Claude, whose staring at the paper as if it will burn. The ginger finally bubbles in Het., but Sid fines that to be a lie.

Huffing, he bubbles in the Hom. bubble before handing it back to Nathalie who set in the basket.

"You'll be staying on the seventh floor with Portugal and England." Nathalie says as thy enter the elevator.

"Why?" Sidney whines, preparing himself for the temper tantrum he knows is coming.

Nathalie elbows him in the side, "Oh shut up. He get to share a floor with _Cristiano Ronaldo_. Be happy."

Sid groans, slumping against the wall, "You're not helping."

"Stop being a little bitch."

Claude snorts a laugh while Sidney stares at her with a hurt expression.

"Nathalie!" Sidney whines, his voice going up in octave.

The elevator door dings open and Nathalie walks out of it with a speed that nobody should have when wearing six-inch heels.

The hallway is a rectangular shaped. The walls are baby blue and the floor a hideous orange. There are three rooms on each side that are spaced far apart. Sidney's room is at the end on the right, a plague on the door that has his name, year he won, and his country. Claude is the first on the left.

"I will see you in about .. three, four hours. Good luck." Nathalie says as the elevator door closes in front of her.

Sighing, Sid opens his door, stepping inside and letting it shut behind him. The people here may be freaky, but the rooms are always beautiful.

The walls are red and the carpet white to represent his home country's flag. The bed is big enough for at least ten people back home. The blanket is decorate with falling maple leafs. The multiple pillows are black with frilly edges. The room even has its own living room. The color of the walls continue, but the floor is wood. A black couch is set in the middle with a glass coffee table and plasma TV that hangs on the wall. There's no need for a kitchen besides a mini fridge because there's a dumbwaiter made of glass that serves you food after you order it.

This room is definitely the only good thing about the Capital.

Sidney manages to sit down on the couch before the sound of the door swinging open makes him jump up.

 _Here we go, more freaks_.

Sidney walks to the door and has to do a double take because the three people (two men, one woman) standing in front of him look ... normal.

"Are .. are you my stylists?"

One of them step forward, extending his hand that Sid takes cautiously, "Hello, my name is Jonatjan Toews, but you can call me Jonny or Tazer." 

"More like Captain Serious." The other man answers.

Jonny sends him a glare over his shoulder, "This is my ignorant partner Patrick Kane, he goes by Pat or Kaner. He likes to dance, rather stupidly -"

"My Kaner Shuffle is _way_ better than you attempting the moonwalk!"

"And this is Irina Shayk. She-"

"I can introduce myself." Irina says, gently pushing Jonny out of the way to shake Sidney's hand. "I am Irina, but you may call me Iri if you choose."

Sid blushes, "Well .. its nice to meet you .. all."

Irina guides him into a bathroom that is way to large for anyone.

Sidney blushes a bright red as Irina tells him to strip down to his boxers (and Kaner tries to watch him without Jonny noticing).

 _That kind of partners, huh?_ Sidney thinks as he throws his pants into his pile of clothes.

Jonny hands him white shorts that go to his knees. The jersey he hands him is red, the leaf on the front and his name on the back are white. Do these people not know there are other colors they can use?

Kaner sets down a pair of white socks that stop at the ankle with matching red and white Nike shoes on the floor, "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

The stylists don't actually pick out their outfits until they do the interviews. So the monstrosity that is this outfit is actually not their fault.

"Not about that, "Pat says, pulling a box out of his pockets, "about this."

Sidney is thoroughly confused until Kaner starts waxing his legs.

He _better_ be sorry.

~

By the time his tortue os done, Sidney looks - and feels - amazing. His skin is glowing and smooth. His hair has that special stuff that smells fantastic and makes it soft. They don't slick it back like he wants to, claiming they want to save it for later.

"Can't use all your tricks at once." Irina says.

Unfortunately, they put makeup on his face. Its mainly just blush and foundation, but it still makes him feel weird because he's not used to things being on his face. The shoes, despite being stupidly hideous, are comfortable. They have that memory foam thing to make it feel like he's walking on clouds.

It feels completely different from last time. Maybe its he's secretly getting special treatmt because he's a Victor.

Sid finds Claude in the hallway looking at his shoes.

"It feels like I'm walking on clouds!"

Damn it.

"They weren't like this last year so I think they're new." Sidney says.

Claude's head jerks up at him (he assumes the ginger didn't know he was there), his eyes widen and his mouth falls open.

Sidney glances over his shoulder, "What?"

Giroux snaps his mouth shut and blinks a few times, "Sorry. You, uh .. You look, you look nice."

Sid blushes (though it probably doesn't affect his appearance), "Thanks. You, er, look good too."

Claude looks at his feet, his cheeks turning a cherry red, "Thanks."

"Don't sweat it man." Sidney says as he guides his fellow tribute to the elevator.

~

Riding on that fucking chariot is easily the stupidest fucking thing Cristiano has _ever_ done in his life. And he's done some pretty stupid shit.

Him and Joāo are wearing crimson red jersey and black shorts. They look completely fucking stupid.

The only good thing about this is that he can wear these lovely, memory foam filled Nike shoes that most definitely came from heaven.

Joāo stands there with a hideous snarl on his face. Cris blows kisses to no one and waves at the crowd of people he never wanted to see again.

Stepping off the stupid chariot is the happiest moment of his life. He literally can not stop grinning.

"You did fabulous." Carvina gushes.

"Remind me to send your stylists a special thank you note." Fábio says, smirking proudly.

 _I'm the reason you're still here_ , Cris thinks, "Definitely."

"Fuck. Off." Joāo growls loudly, stomping away from a frustrated Ricardo.

"I can't stand that kid." Ricardo mumbles to his wife.

Carvina chuckles, "Just wait a few more days sweety. He'll be out of our hair."

Fábio joins in on the conversation, but Cris doesn't listen. His attention is somewhere else.

More like on some _one_ else.

The man's back is turned to him. His shoes are red and white. Shorts a pure white that fits his large ass perfectly. Jersey a(n unsurprising) red, the white letters spell the name 'Crosby'.

Based on the colors, Cris knows he's Canadian. The other guy, a ginger, looks nervous, which makes Cris assume he's the rookie. That means this Crosby character is the one who volunterred.

Why couldn't Cris have been one of those World Games nut who knows every tribute in existence?

"Cris dear, are you alright?"

"Yes, just scoping out the competition."

Cristiano turns back to his mentor, "Its time for us to start training, yes?"

Fábio smiles, "Yes, I believe so."

Cris forces a grin, "Fantastic. I'm dying to begin."

"That'll be the only form of dying you'll be doing." Ricardo says, squeezing his shoulder.

Carvina links arms with her husband and Fábio, chattering away about how some Capital whore is sleeping with another one's partner. Cris rolls his eyes, apparently the only thing these people care about is ''romance''.

He can't help but to look over his shoulder and he happens to catch Crosby's eyes. The Canadian breaks the contact quickly, grabbing the arm of his fellow tribute and guiding him to another destination.

Cris isn't ashamed to say he watched him walk away, because he's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this was weird. It was supposed to be weird. The Capital is weird. So the people are freaks. Except Sid's stylists, they're just special.
> 
> Please forgive me for any typos. I proof read it to the best of my abilities, but sometimes I miss things.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope it lived up to your standards, whatever they may be. Any form of feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

After going back into their rooms and changing into workout gear, the mentors bring their tributes into the training center.

Sara Carbonero, fiance of Victor and mentor Iker Casillas, is standing in the middle of the center surrounded by multiple stations. She looks up from the clipboard she was scribbling on with a huge grin.

"Hello tributes!" Sara greets, "I see that the parade has finished a little early, but that's the fine." She bats her eyelashes, "To my left, we have the weapon stations, but it also extends to the back. To my right, there are the survival stations that you will need if you want to survive in the arena," She chuckles, "Everyone play nice now! Anyone who tries to fight will face consequences that may or may not end your life!"

 _How is she not in an institution?_ Sidney thinks as she struts away.

"I'm sure Marc already told you this, but I'm going to say it anyways. Don't go to what your best skill is, save that for the Makers. Here, you practice the things you aren't to good at." Sidney instructs.

"But I'm not good at anything." Claude mumbles,

"I'm sure there's something." Sidney says.

The ginger shakes his head.

Sid grabs his fellow tribute by the shoulders, "Listen, we have a better chance of survival if we stick together. That being said, I'm not going to work with someone who can t do anything and doesn't have confidence in himself. Unless you're trying to fuck us both over, I'm going to need you to believe in yourself. Got it?"

Claude's eyes brighten up, "Yes, I understand."

Sidney smiles, "Great we'll work on snares first. If you want to last long, you'll need food. The easiest way to catch it is by using a snare," he explains as they walk to the far right corner.

"Okay."

...

Cristiano has walked into the training center planning to work on his snares. He'd been quite fabulous at it last time, but he needs some practice at it.

Then he saw Crosby and the ginger kid going over there and started heading the other direction.

 _I have no reason not to go over there_ Cris thinks, _He'll be dead before I even think about him_.

Cris goes over to the camouflage station to wait them out.

...

David smiles brightly at his work. This'll do just fine indeed.

"David, have you finished reviewing the arena? I'm sure our President would like to hear what you think as soon as possible." Roger asks casually.

Beckham's head jerks up at the sound of his voice, his eyes wide and surprised, "Oh .. oh. Yes. I just, uh, finished it actually. About to bring it to him now."

"Would you like me to take it-"

"No, no, no," David scrambles to get out of his seat and out the door, "Its fine, I've got it."

"Are you sure? I'm-"

"I got it. Goodbye Roger!"

 _There's definitely some sneaky shit going on around here_ , Roger thinks, _And I'm not going to give up until I know what it is._

~

David looks around frantically. He barely sees Gary walk around the corner.

"Gary!" He whispers harshly.

Gary snaps his head into David's direction. Beckham gestures for him to come here.

"What?"

"I think Roger is catching on."

Bettman's eyes widen, "How?"

"I don't know. I was sitting in my office, finishing the review. Then he comes in and acts all suspicious." David whispers.

Gary runs a hand over his face, "You sure you're not being paranoid?"

"No! This isn't like last year. I promise."

Bettman sighs, "Okay. I'll take care of him."

David visibly relaxes, "Thank you."

"How did it go with Mike?"

"Fine. He didn't suspect a thing."

"Besides the Goodell thing, we're good, right?"

"The mentors are on board, the plan is in motion. We got this man." David says.

Gary sighs, "Good, good. I'll talk to Roger tomorrow, okay? Just don't worry about it for now."

"Okay. Yes. I got it. Thanks."

~

Mario paces around Fleury's room as they wait for their tributes to get back from training. He's slowly but surely starting to panic. The Games start in a few days. That means Sidney will go back in and fight for his life. In a few days he may never see Sidney again .. oh god ..

"Mario, calm down." Marc says, grabbing the older man's shoulders "You need to stop. You're no good to anyone if you're freaking out, okay?"

Mario sighs, "I know. I know."

The door cracks open and David pokes his head in, "We're all set to go, okay?"

Mario tenses, ""'Kay."

He leaves without another word.

Marc looks at him confused, but Mario shakes his head.

"Just old people stuff." He lies.

Fleury looks unconvinced but drops the subject.

The door opens again, but this time Sidney walks in covered in sweat.

"Claude did really well today. He's really good with his hands." Sid says, smiling with pride.

"Really? I thought he would've went to camouflage and tried to hide himself." Marc says, half joking half serious.

Sidney wipes his forehead with one hand, keeping the other on his hip. Mario licks his lips and clears his throat.

"And how did you do?" He asks.

"I did okay, I guess. I mean, I'm a little rusty, but its nothing I can't fix." Sidney replies, smiling at him.

"Tomorrow I want you to work on your weapons. I have a feeling you're gonna need them." Mario instructs.

Crosby nods, "Okay. We could both use the training."

"Good. Now get some sleep." Mario says as he leaves.

"Thanks for taking Claude under your wing." Marc says.

"No problem man."

Fleury pats Sid's cheek before making his friend leave.

He can't stop wondering what David and Mario were talking about. What's with all the secrecy?

Marc has heard somethings. But it was all just gossip. Or that's what he thought.

He sighs. The Capital is getting to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to heat up. It seems everyone has a secretor two,
> 
> Thanks for reading this. Sorry for any mistakes. All feedback would be apprecaited!


	6. Seventy Two Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The count down to the World Games begins as the stress and pressure starts to pile on and unlikely alliances are formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to make Cristiano sort of have a Haymitch mentality, but without being an alcoholic. I hope that transferred through.
> 
> Through writing this, I realized I sort of made Sidney like Katniss with the whole family thing and have a normal stylist and being an underdog and what not .. I never intended to do that, and I hope I'm the only one who sees it that way.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait. I've been working on another fic while trying to work out the kinks in this story.
> 
> Thank you for reading and for all the support. Feedback is greatly appreciated :)

Chapter 6:

Marc pulls Sidney aside and tells him to let Claude do his own thing at practice. Sid worked alone last time, and he planned on doing it again. Claude needed to make an alliance, and he couldn't do that if he's always following Sidney.

Sid decides the best time to tell Claude by sitting him down in his room and having a one-on-one talk.

"You're going to do your own thing tomorrow, alright?"

Claude looks at him as if he has three heads, " _What?_ "

"You need to find out what Claude Giroux is good at. You have to explore yourself. Make some friends while you're at it. Getting close to the Careers might be good." Sidney attempts to explain in a way that doesn't insult his fellow tribute.

The ginger looks incredibly hurt, "Why would I want to be with them when I have you?"

Sid sighs, "Yeah, but I might not always be there."

"But, but-"

Sidney grabs him by the shoulders, "Listen Claude, I am your friend. So I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you come out of there alive."

"Why? No one wants me to come back."

"What are-"

"Don't play dumb Sidney," Claude sighs, "Everyone wants you to win. I can see it in the way Marc looks at me that he knows I have to die so you won't. I can see it in the way Mario looks at you that he's counting down the days until this whole thing is over and you'll be safe .. and I'm alright with that."

Sid opens his mouth to say something, what he doesn't know. All the words he could've said, should've said, got stuck in his throat.

"You have a family .. one that loves you. I dont. I have nothing." Claude rambles on, "You .. you deserve to come home. You deserve to take the Victory Tour again .. As long as its you that wins, I'm perfectly fine with dying."

"D-don't .. say that. You have as much of a chance as anybody."

Giroux half smiles "No I don't .. but I've came to terms with dying. Its my time .. its definitely my time."

"Don't ever say that again .. We can be allies, we can work together .. maybe they'll do another special rule change and we can both come home or .. or something."

"They won't do that .. They've already bent the rules enough."

"You don't know that."

Claude stands up, "I'll do my own thing at practice tomorrow .. right after that we have the thing with the Game makers .."

"Claude-"

"I'll make sure Marc gets you some sponsors after I die."

Claude leaves right after that, leaving Sidney in shock. He hadn't expect their talk to be good, but this was a whole new level of disastrous.

Did Marc really make it so obvious he wasn't rooting for his own tribute? He had personally never seen it. Maybe it was something that happened in their private time?

Whatever the case nay be, Sid needs to have a conversation with Marc. His tribute needs the support of his mentor now more than ever. He expected better from his own tribute.

~

Cristiano has a hard time sleeping. Today is the last day of practice. Tomorrow they show the Ganemakers their skills. The next day, they do the interviews.Twenty four hours later, they're stepping off their platforms and fighting for their lives.

Seventy two hours left. Seventy two hours of living. Seventy two hours before they all go back in. Before the bloodbath starts. Before the murdering happens. Before you're fighting tooth and nail to survive.

But why do they fight? What are they surviving for? To come back to a life full of suffering? Of pain? Of sleepless nights because letting your eyes shut brings back all the memories of death?

All of this to entertain the _Capital_. Its disgusting how they carry themselves, how they always complain about the slightest flaw in their lives

They wouldn't survive a day in his world. And he would never want to live in theirs.

Fábio pokes his head in, "You ready for your big day?"

Cris forces a smile, "Always."

Fábio chatters to him all the way to the training center. Spreading gossip about who's fake (which doesn't make any sense because this city was built on fake people) and who's sleeping with who. Cris thanks god the elevator door opens because he's seconds away from punching his mentor's lights out.

"Remember, you're better than all of them." Fábio says as the door slides close.

_No shit_ , Cristiano thinks. Apparently he has to be reminded that he's the best everyday because he doesn't already know.

Putting the stupidity of the people who hold his life in their hands, Cris decides to work on his weapon skills. Mainly his knife throwing because he wasn't to good with the knife part (but he was good with the throwing).

And guess which lucky Canadian is at his station.

"Fuck me." Cris whispers to himself.

He isn't going to chicken out like last time. He's going to ignore the warmth in his stomach and the way his heart beat picks up and practice throwing knives even if it kills him.

Cristiano tries holding the knife several different ways. It all feels wrong and awkward, and his throwing sucks. He's prepared to just move on ..

"You're holding it wrong."

Cristiano raises an eyebrow at the Canadian, "No shit."

Crosby frowns, "Wouldn't you rather have someone show you how rather than continuously do it wrong?"

"Fine. Would you be so kind as to show me?"

Crosby purses his lips, "You have to grip the handle like this .."

For the next ten minutes, Cris listens to what the Canadian says, following his instructions. In fifteen, he hits the dummy right in the middle of its chest.

"Good job."

Cristiano smiles, "I assume I have to repay you, huh?"

"I hope you weren't expecting a free lesson." Crosby says.

Cris takes him over to the ace section, "Think you can pick this up?"

The Canadian doesn't respond, instead picking up the weapon.

"Good."

It takes only ten minutes for the other tribute to catch on and successfully cut off one of the dummies heads.

"That dummy is a piece of shit." Crosby says, throwing the axe in with the other ones.

Cris chuckles, "Save all that animosity for the arena. I'm sure you'll need it."

"Why? No one here views me as a threat." Crosby points out.

"Maybe they should."

The Canadian smirks, "They'll be more focused on getting the Careers out. Mainly the Germans."

"Maybe the Careers should be focused on trying to take you out," Cristiano says, "Especially the Germans."

"I think they should watch out for you as well. Because if you truly believe I will impact these Games in any way, you belong in the mental institution next to Goc."

Cristiano takes a step closer to the smaller tribute, "You shouldn't doubt yourself. You're smarter than most people and you're stronger than you look-"

"To be able to win, you need sponsors. I can't do that. Not when you have your charm and good looks winning over everyone of their hearts-"

"Well,if you manage to out smart everyone you won't need sponsors-"

"Okay. But you have that intimidation factor-"

"Intimidation doesn't win-"

"No. But it makes people afraid to attack-"

"But if you're smart enough you can set a trap-"

"You don't know what my first name is-

Cristiano blinks, was it that obvious? "What? Yes I do!"

Crosby crosses his arms over his chest, "What is it then?"

"Why does it matter if I know your name or not?"

"Because if you did, then you would know that I set a trap last time and won, so people would be expecting that." Crosby thinks it over, "Well, if they actually watch old footage they would. But I highly doubt they will."

"Another reason why you could win if I don't."

Crosby bites his lip, "My name's Sidney by the way. And don't you dare introduce yourself, I already know who you are."

Cristiano smiles, "Sidney, its been a pleasure. If you happen to make it past the bloodbath and want to take down the Careers, maybe we could join forces."

"Like a final two deal?"

"Just until the Careers are gone. I'd hate to be the one that kills you."

Sidney takes a moment to think it over, "I don't usually work with people, but neither do you .. so I'll make an exception for you, Cristiano."

Warmth fills Cris's stomach as his name rolls off the other man's tongue, "Fantastic and good luck."

"Good luck."

The Canadian walks away after that, leaving Cris to wonder ..

What the hell did he just agree to?

~

Claude had a good day. Well, as good as a day can be in his situation.

He made a friend in Swedish tribute Nicklas Bäckström. And he wants his friend to stay safe.

"Sid?"

"Yes Claude?" Sidney responds.

"If I die .. could you look after someone for me?"

Sid's eyes show pity, "Of course, of course. Who?"

"Nicklas." Claude replies.

Sidney's brows knit together, "Bäckström? The Swedish kid?"

"Yeah. He's my friend. I care about him." Claude says confidently.

Crosby hugs him, "Anything for you."

Giroux grins, "Thanks Sid, you're the best."

"Just .. don't give up on yourself. Being an underdog doesn't mean you have no chance."

"I will. Goodnight."

"'Night Claude."

He has no chance.


	7. Forty Eight Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to face the Gamemakers and hope they like what they see. After all, it could save your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tribute's are given a number on a 1-10 scale. 10 being perfect, 1 they don't do anything. Having a 10 puts a target on your back, but its a compliment to receive a 9. Just a little hint before you begin reading.

Chapter 7:

David fiddles with his pen as each tribute perform their skill. The Careers were going to get a high score, they always did. The others, with the exception of maybe one or two, would receive low to medium scores.

"Who's next?" David asks.

Gary looks at the sheet, "Portugal."

Beckham tries not to smile at his partner, especially since Roger is watching them.

Joāo doesn't do .. good, but he doesn't do to bad. A solid six. Cristiano Ronaldo, one of David's favorites, does amazingly well, as expected. He wanted to put a ten, but Gary coaxed him down to a nine.

The country following that, Sweden, nearly bores him to sleep. His eyes start to droop and his head is seconds from hitting the table.

Gary pokes him in the side, "Canada's next."

David groans, sitting up straight, "Last one."

Claude Giroux - is that his name? - leaves in record time, two minutes, so David gives him a four. After that is Sidney Crosby, Gary kicks him under the table.

"I will kill you." David growls to his partner.

_Sidney's heart beat picks up. Its all become so real .. Forty eight hours left .. Forty eight hours and they go back in .._

_His score will affect his game. If he gets a really nice score and he has a good interview, then he has a decent chance of getting sponsors. If he fails, if he does bad, if he's not charming, sponsors will go somewhere else, to someone else. There's nothing Mario can do about it._

David scribbles 'Him?' on the corner of his paper and slides it so his other partner can see it. Wayne smirks and nods proudly.

What does he see in these people?

_Sid picks up the axe. Thankfully, its not heavy. It would've been embarrassing if he couldn't pick it up._

_He adjusts his grip, takes a deep breath, and does exactly what Cristiano showed him._

By the time Crosby is done, dummy parts are scattered across the room and the Gamemakers stare in awe. None of them have seen moves like that, not in a while anyways. Wayne looks like he's going to stand up and applaud.

_Sidney puts the weapon down, bows slightly, and leaves quickly. He hopes he did good .. He hopes they're impressed._

They're impressed.

~

Mario wraps an arm around Sidney's shoulders as the scores are announced.

Goc gets an unsurprising ten while Gotze an eight. Ballard and Altidore solid sevens. Both from Spain eight. Walker a six and Steven a seven (which is way to high for someone as unskillful as he is). The Russians receive nines. The Argentinians and Spaniards all are given fives. Next is Periera with a six and Ronaldo with an obvious nine. Larsson gets a four, with Nicklas matching. Claude looks slightly surprised, probably expecting his friend to do better. He probably shouldn't because the Swedes have never been a favorite ..

Claude's picture shows, a four flashing next to it.

"Hey, I got a three." Marc reminds everyone in hopes of cheering up his tribute.

He looks sad, but Sidney knows he doesn't care.

The last tribute, the last picture, is Sidney. With a big ten next to his face.

"Holy fucking shit." Claude breaths.

"You and Goc? Tens?" Marc asks.

Sidney looks at them, his eyes wild with shock. He turns to Mario in hopes his mentor would understand.

"This .. this is fantastic." Mario grins.

"Fantastic? _Fantastic_?!" Sidney asks, "Do you not understand what a ten can do?"

"Yeah. It gets you sponsors. And by god kid, you know you need them."

Sid shakes his head, "Tens put targets on people's backs!"

"Targets get you sponsors-"

"No! Targets get you _killed_."

"Targets get you allies. Strong ones. Maybe even the Careers."

"What makes you think I want to work with them? Do I need to even bring up Kris right now?"

Mario's jaw tightens, "What they did to Kris was completely uncalled for and animalistic. I am very sorry that you lost your friend-"

"They cut him into pieces! I'm not just going to forgive them for that!"

Lemieux sighs, "Sidney, you can't hold grudges. Not when it could save your life."

"How is teaming with them going to save my life? They could backstab me at any moment."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Actually, yes I do."

Mario raises his eyebrows, "Really? Who?"

"Ronaldo and Backstrom." Sidney answers proudly.

"You mean the self centered, rich ass, backstabbing, whore and the Swedish rookie? They're going to save your life?"

"Cristiano is not a whore." Sid growls.

"And Nicky may be small, he may be Swedish, and he may be a rookie. But he's more intelligent than anybody else there. And he's a lot stronger than what he lets on." Claude says.

"Its actually a pretty smart move," Marc interjects, "I don't know Nicklas that well, but he's a sweet kid and the Capital will love him. But Ronaldo .. sponsors literally line up to help him out in any way. They're all completely in love with his charm and good looks .. Teaming up with them, along with the sponsors that will come from Sid's ten and G's interview, will make them the Capital's favorite team."

Mario looks skeptical, but he takes a deep breath and agrees, "Whatever you think is best. I'm sure you know better than I do."

"I do know better than you."

Mario stands up and hugs his tribute, "I know you do .. I'm just an old man stuck in his old ways."

"No, you're just a worried dad looking out for his adopted son."

Mario tenses up and pulls back, "Yeah, that must be it."

Marc and Claude say goodbye to Sidney as they leave. He wants to ask what his mentor's problem is. But, knowing Mario, he'll tell him when he's ready.

~

David gives Wayne a skeptical look, "You sure?"

Wayne rolls his eyes, "Yes David. God damn. This kid is really good. He'll do us and the world good."

"I still picked the better one."

"Uh no."

"I did too!"

"We're not doing this."

"You're just jealous mine is better!"

"Will you two shut the fuck up already?" Gary asks, looking annoyed.

"He started it!" Wayne and David say in unison.

Bettman rolls his eyes, "David, stop acting like a child. Wayne, stop encouraging him."

The two partners share a playful look of annoyance and go back to their work. If everything was to go as planned, they needed to get this done. They only have forty-eight hours left. There's no time for horse play.

*an hour later*

David points his finger at Wayne, merely a millimeter separating the tip and his shoulder.

"Stop touching me, you nincompoop." Gretzky demands.

"I'm not touching you!" David says, wigging his finger to prove it.

Gary groans, "Stop acting like a bunch of fucking children and get to fucking work!"

Beckham blushes sheepishly and Wayne buries himself in his papers (literally). Gary rolls his eyes. If he didn't need these two ass clowns, he'd throw them out the window.

_All the while, they didn't see Roger Goodell hiding in the corner. Watching them from the shadows. Recording them from his hidden camera in the bookshelves. He can't tell what they're doing now. But he will soon enough. Then, he'd orchestrate the perfect plan to sabotage whatever they're working on._

_He is, after all, an evil mastermind._

~

Cristiano is pleased with his score. But not nearly as much as Fabio and Carvina. The two have been sipping wine for the past hour as they gossip about the latest Capital news. Once his nine was announced, they busted out the champagne. They don't even bother to watch the other tributes. Cris doesn't intend on joining them. In fact, he's going to use the 'need to get my beauty rest' excuse to get out of there ASAP.

Just as he's about to leave, Sidney Crosby's picture appears on the screen, right beside a ten.

 _That's something I can drink to_ Cris thinks with a grin plastered to his face.

"Oh Cristiano. Come join us!" Carvina calls.

Cris does just that, taking a glass of champagne from the waitress, "What are we toasting to this evening?"

"To you, of course." Carvina giggles.

"Also to a great year, a great season, an exciting World Games." Fabio adds.

"And to Cristiano Ronaldo, once again triumphing over his other tributes. Showing why he is, and always will be, the greatest Victor to have ever lived!" Ricardo concludes.

"Cheers." They say simultaneously and take their first drink.

"So Cristiano, have you decided to make an alliance this year? Or are you going to be a lone wolf again?" Fabio asks, downing half his glass.

"Actually, I have a tribute in mind who I would like to work with."

Carvine perks up, "Really? Who?"

"Sidney Crosby."

Ricardo raises his eyebrows, "The small Canadian boy?"

"Yes."

"Why him?"

"Because he is fast. He is strong. He is the second most intelligent person out there, besides myself obviously. He's good with weapons, even the ones that I have yet to master. He can show me things, and I show him." Cris explains.

"So are lots of people." Ricardo objects.

"It's going to be a really hard out there. Germany and Russia have brought their best competitors. Going at this by myself won't work this time." Cristiano says, "You know I don't trust a lot of people, especially not those in the arena. But after what he went through with his best friend being killed last time .. I know he's looking for an ally he won't backstab."

"You're so smart." Carvina whispers.

"I'm not saying I trust him completely. But my chances are better with him by my side than him working against me."

Ricardo squeezes his shoulders, "Carvina's right, you are smart. I want you to know, I have faith in you and I accept whatever decision you decide to make."

"I as well. But I'd like for you to run things like this by me first. That way I can talk to their mentors and work with them." Fabio says.

"My apologizes. Will do next time." Cris checks his watch, "Its getting late, I'm going to need my beauty sleep for tomorrow."

Its only eight p.m.

~

Fabio catches Mario Lemieux on his way back to his room.

"Hey Mario. May we have a quick conversation?" Fabio asks politely.

The older man smiles, "Of course Fabio. What may I help you with?"

"Well, it seems our tributes are going to be working together."

"Yes, Sid informed me after the scores were revealed."

Fabio nods, "I just want to let you know that I want their alliance to carry on over to us. For them to survive, we need to work together and build sponsors. Now, Cris is obviously a fan favorite here in the Capital. But I want to know what Sidney brings to the table."

"He's a great kid. The people here do love him for what he did to Kris, his friend who came in with him. He's strong, fast, and very smart. Though I'm sure Cristiano already told you all this." Mario says.

"Yes he did."

"Did he also tell you about the ten?"

"What ten?"

Mario smirks, "Sidney scored a ten."

"A ... _ten_?" Fabio asks, his eyes widening.

"Yep."

Fabio blinks numbly a few times before extending his hand, "Well Mario. This was a great talk. I am so happy that our tributes have decided to align themselves together. I truly believe they will be good partners, and so will we."

Lemieux takes his hand in a death lock, "I'm sure they will .. However, if you expect me to believe for even a second that you have any faith in Sidney, you're dumber than you look. I know you're only thinking about your tribute's game, as you should be. But I will send you down to that morgue along with the other tributes if you think that you are going to use my son as a way to help Cristiano's game, understood?"

"Yes sir."

Mario lets go and takes a step back, "This was a great talk."

After the older man walks away, Fabio massages his hand and replays his words over and over in his head.

_Sidney is Mario's son?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if the David/Wayne/Gary scene was lame or unfunny. I truly believe David is a complete goofball and who better to tease than Wayne freaking Gretzky? And Gary is obviously the serious one. I was attempting to lighten the mood from all the seriousness, at least for a little bit. But I feel as if I totally failed. Once again, I apologize.
> 
> I also feel that Cris would look like a total bad ass swinging an axe around, so that's what he does. Sidney gets a ten because he's a freaking perfectionist and practice his routine for hours without end. He didn't leave the training center until he was absolutely forced to.
> 
> I also apologize for any mistakes. I sort of proof read this and I'm working on my computer which doesn't have auto correct (unlike my tablet). So forgive me for any and all errors, I'm only human.
> 
> I am posting this at one in the morning, so I hope it was worth staying up to finish this chapter. I really hope you all enjoy this. Thank you to everyone who continues to read this. All feedback is welcomed :)


	8. Twenty Four Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tributes sum up their final day of freedom by being the entertainment for the Capital. While in the office, a new alliance is formed (though it's not a very trustworthy one).

Chapter Eight:

"One more day."

David's head snaps up at the sound of Gary's voice, "Hm?"

"One more day 'til the Games begin." Gary says.

David checks his Calender, "I hadn't even realized it was that soon .. Is everything set up?"

"Is everything set up for what?"

Beckham's eyes pop open when Roger walks into the room. His head skips a beat or two. He really needs to do something about people just walking in ..

"For the arena." Gary replies.

Roger smirks, "Well, have you reviewed the back wall? Because I found something interesting you might want to see."

Three pieces of paper are tossed onto David's desk. Neither of them make a move towards it because they already know what it contains.

"What do you want Goodell?" Gary questions.

"I want to know what you two are planning," Roger answers, "And if you refuse, I'll show the papers to Richardson. Wouldn't -"

"If you were going to tell Richardson about this you would've gone straight to him. But instead you came here." David interrupts, "Now tell us what you _really_ want."

Goodell frowns, "If you're going to do what I think you're going to do .. I want in."

"How do we know you wont go running to Richardson?" Gary asks.

"As David just said, if I wanted to tell him, I would've done it by now."

The partners exchange glances. Roger has never been a trustworthy guy, but another hand could help them pull it off.

"Fine. Let me go get Gretzky."

~

Sidney raises his eyebrows at the monstrosity in Johnny's hands, "I'm not wearing that."

Jonny sighs, "I know its not the best looking thing, but it'll make you look good. I promise."

"If you don't wanna trist him, its understandable, but I swear you'll look fantastic." Kaner promises.

"You will be best looking person out there. All the ladies will love you." Irina says.

Sid sighs, "If you think it will .."

Irina grins, "Know it will."

~

Sidney thinks he looks stupid, or like a clown. The suit he was forced into is black, with faint, red vines swirling around everywhere. His tie is a plain, solid black. Shoes are basic, black loafers that are too tight on his feet and make awkward squishing sounds.

They put that amazing Capital stuff in his hair again. This time styling it so it frames his face. Irina does his make up, putting blush on his cheeks and a small amount of eyeliner to make him ''pop''.

"You win everyone's heart over." Irina purrs.

"Just go out there, be your normal self, and it'll be over before you realize it." Jonny assures him.

"Its not the interview I'm worried about but what comes next." Sidney mumbles, more or less to himself.

Tazer squeezes his shoulder, "I don't know what its like to go in there, but I do know its hard. Going back for another round is unbelievable. But I know you'll do great."

"Do what you did last time and you've got it in the bag." Patrick adds.

Mario pokes his head in, "We need to be going."

Sidney hugs his stylists, smiling as he does. The three of them have tears in their eyes as they say their goodbyes. This may be the last time he ever sees them, so he can't blame them for being emotional.

"Don't turn into a Capital product. Ever." Sidney demands as he leaves.

"That goes for you too." Jonny says.

~

"What do you assclo-" Wayne starts, walking into David's office, but stops immediately when he sees Goodell, "What do I owe-"

"I want to know what you're doing and I want in." Goodell interrupts, eyeing Wayne as he shuts the door behind him."Unless you'd rather me show the back wall to the President."

Gretzky sighs, "Okay. You're in, but there's no backing out. The mentors from the poor countries know and I think some of the older tributes do as well, so they're going to know you're a part of this."

Roger smirks, his eyes sparkling, "I'm in this one hundred percent."

Wayne throws his partners dirty glares before going describing their plan..

And who's going to blame him for ''accidentally'' leaving out a few ''minor'' details?

~

Alexander Ovechkin, a large Russian who doesn't speak English very well, the host for the past ten years, is a complete and utter goofball. But everyone loves it. The way he can make a joke about of basically everything anyone says makes the crowd double over in laughter. The way he talks so openly about their possible deaths, and laughs so loud about it, makes the crowd love him even more.

Its all so disgusting.

Watching each and every tribute create a character for themselves; lovable, humorous, intimidating, powerful, etc; just to get sponsors. It makes him sick.

Unfortunately, the last two to go are Canada and Portugal. So Sidney waits patiently, keeping his hands in his pockets and his mouth shut.

Goc doesn't say anything, literally. He just glares and ignores Ovechkin's desperate attempts at making jokes for two whole minutes before he gets up and leaves. Götze tries to do the same, but his face cracks a little when Ovechkin talks about the new Capital obsession with animal face paint.

No one else really stands out. They all fit somewhere between joking and charming. Keith Ballard looks like he's about to start sobbing. Bäckström looks absolutely adorable, his stylists really brought out his childish features. The crowd 'Aw's at everything the kid says.

"I look like a clown." Claude says, adjusting his bright red bow tie that matches his suit and black dress shoes.

"You look better than I do." Sid says.

The ginger gives him a look and gestures at his outfit, "I am a tomato. In every way possible."

Sidney snorts, "If you're a tomato, then you are the cutest tomato I've ever seen."

Claude perks up, "Really?"

"Obviously."

"Come on Claude, you're next." One of the guards says, pulling Giroux to the stage.

"Good luck." Sidney calls out as his fellow tribute is ushered into the light.

Sid rubs his hands together and licks his lips nervously. He doesn't have stage fright or anything, being on a stage is the least of his worries. Being in front of thousands of people, with millions watching on their TVs, and being forced to _speak_ scares the living shit out of him.

"You okay?" Cristiano asks from behind him, "Looks like you're about to have a nervous breakdown."

"What. No! I'm fine. I'm - I'm good." Sid lies, scratching the back of his neck.

Cristiano smirks, "Don't worry about it. Between the two of us, we'll get plenty of sponsors."

Sidney opens his mouth to include Nicky in that equation, but a guard is grabbing him by the elbow and forcing him onto the stage before he even gets a word out.

"Sidney Crosby!" Ovechkin shouts, grinning wildly and causing the crowd to cheer.

After the crowd settles down, Ovechkin looks at him very seriously, "Everyone watch you volunteer for Mario Lemieux, your mentor, and everyone wonders why. Is there reason, or are you just nice guy?"

"I love Mario, he's like a father to me. So it's not like I could just let him come back in here." Sidney says and bites his bottom lip.

_In his room, Mario cringes at the word 'like', wishing he could erase that word completely._

_Marc gasps, "Oh .. oh."_

Alexander smiles, "Not lot of people would do that. Especially at your age. How old are you now?"

"Sixteen."

"And your sister?"

Sidney's heart twists and he hopes the pain he feels isn't evident on his face, "Ten."

Ovechkin mouths a 'Wow', "Speaking of numbers, last time you in the Games you had a five, but this year you get ten." He leans in close, "Wanna tell big Crosby secret?"

Sid forces a grin, "I don't think I'm really supposed to."

The crowd laughs like he said the funniest thing ever and the Russian smiles gratefully, "Of course not." He cocks his head to the side, "Is tough group this year, especially from Careers. Do you plan on grouping up with someone, or is this 'nother Crosby secret?"

"I think a lot of things will be different this year, and that everyone will be genuinely surprised. I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens."

Ovechkin smiles, all bright and happy, "I hope pretty face, warm heart, and skills get you plenty sponsors." They both stand up, "Ladies and gentlemen, Sidney Crosby!"

_Mario puts his hands on the French Canadian's shoulders, "Marc, there's something I really want to show you, but you have to promise me you won't tell anyone, not even Sidney."_

_Fleury nods, "I swear."_

Cristiano forces on a smile and shakes Ovechkin's large hand. He actually kind of likes this guy, considering the fact that he isn't a freak. Alexander is up here to make the crowd love them, to get them sponsors. You can tell who he likes more by the questions he asks and the way he acts. With Sidney, he was asking questions to show his human side, how much he loves his family.

Any real emotion is rare, especially here in the Capital where being fake is the only real way to fit in. Love is .. it's not something you see everyday. You'll see it within family, but between two people like Sidney and Mario .. it's uncommon to say the least.

"Cristiano, the Capital's favorite tribute," Ovechkin says, grinning the entire time, "You won heart of everyone when you smile and with good manners. How you plan to top last time?"

"I'm just going to be me. Which is what I've always done."

Alexander nods,his face turning very serious, "Like I just said to Crosby, this very tough group. Some people call it Group of Death because they not sure if one will survive or if you all just kill each other." He pauses to let that sink in, "Is there one person you keep eye on?"

"You can't really just keep your eye on one single person. Especially if the Careers are still around." Cris answers.

Alex looks very unimpressed, "Name should be Group of Bore because you all give me lame answers." The crowd laughs, "Can I have one answer? Please?"

Cristiano takes a deep breath, "Joāo is pretty intimidating. He growls a lot, too."

The crowd continues to laugh as Ovechkin shouts, "Ladies and gents, Cristiano Ronaldo!"

_"I heard the rumors, but .. is this for real?" Marc asks, his mind trying to catch up to what Mario is showing him._

_"You think I would joke about this?" Mario asks._

_No, not with something like **this**_.

~

"You looked so great out there!" Carvina gushes, "My little star! So sweet and handsome!"

"The part on Joāo was pretty sweet too." Fábio adds, smiling as he fiddles with his tablet.

Cristiano shrugs and steps out of the elevator, "Should I expect a visit tonight?"

"No. Carvina and I are going to work on your sponsors before heading to sleep ourselves." Fábio answers, smiling apologetically.

"See you tomorrow then." Cris says and turns his back as the door closes.

Sidney is there, talking to Giroux until the ginger goes inside his room, "Hello Cristiano."

Cris shudders as his name rolls off the Canadian's tongue, "Hi Sidney."

They walk in an awkward silence until they reach their adjacent rooms. Cris somehow manages to blurt out, "You look really nice."

Crosby blushes, "That's what my stylists said the suit would do."

"Not just in the suit, but-" Cristiano forces himself to stop, that's not something he should be thinking, let alone saying out loud, "Goodnight. You'll need a good night's sleep for tomorrow."

"Goodnight Cristiano."

Cris shuts the door behind him and leans his head against the coolness of the wood. What the hell is wrong with him? Crosby is still the enemy, even if they're working together. He's just one obstacle between Cris going home to his-

To his what exactly? Crosby has a sister, a mother, friends, and there's Mario and his family. They all love him and he loves them just as much. Isn't that the kind of person this world needs?

If he was going to die, wouldn't he want it to be in the arena? It is, after all, the place that made him famous, that made strangers at least pretend to give two shits about him.

If he's going to die, then Sidney is going to win, and this will be the most memorable Games of all.

~

_"Kris." Sid whispers and waits patiently for his ally to answer. When he doesn't get a response, his heart beat picks up, "Kris!"_

_"Sid!" Kris comes out of the bushes, "Get out-" is all he manages to say before a knife pierces his forehead and he falls to the ground._

_"Oh my god." Sidney gasps, covering his mouth to keep from vomiting._

_The Careers are sprinting towards him and he - he can't just leave Kris here. Kris has a family to get back to, a girlfriend he's going to marry,_

_Kris is dead._

_Holy shit, Kris is **dead**. And he's - he's all alone and the Careers are closing in on him. This is it, he's going to die._

...

Cristiano stares blankly at the ceiling. He didn't sleep last time and now isn't different. How is he supposed to sleep when he knows his life will be ending in a matter of days, a week at the most?

The sound of screaming makes him jump out of bed and into the hallway before he even blinks. It happens again, and it's coming from Sidney's room.

Cris doesn't even think before bolting into the room and running over to his bed. He instantly grabs Crosby's shoulders and lightly shakes him. It doesn't work and -

God he looks so _beautiful_ , so _perfect_. It would be easy to lean down and press their lips together, to slip his tongue between those plush lips.

"Cris?"

"Hey," Cristiano bites his lip, "Bad dream?"

"Yeah," Crosby sits up, "About the Games, you know?"

Cris nods in sympathy, "I know, I have those all the time. It's like it's scarier now than it was back then."

"At least back then there was always someone who could put you out of your misery, but now.." Sidney waves his hand to dismiss that thought.

They both know it's true. In the arena, whether it be a fellow tribute or a Gamemaker, there was always someone prepared to end your life. When they got out, there was no one gunning for their head, making the only enemy their mind.

Without thinking, Cris blurts out, "Do you want me to go?"

"No." Sidney replies without hesitating. Then blushes and quickly adds, "Unless you want to."

Cristiano chuckles and feels his cheeks burning "Can you scoot over so I can lay down with you?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Crosby says and moves over.

Smiling, Cristiano slips under the cover and wraps his arm around the Canadian's shoulders. When Sidney puts his head over his heart, Cris let's his eyelids slide shut.

"Did you mean it when you said I looked nice?" Crosby asks, his voice soft.

"Every word," Cris says, his exhaustion catching up with him, "Wake me up if you have another dream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the interviews, the words in italics were what was going on in Mario's room with Marc. And at the end, the words in italics were Sidney's dream, and then it switched to Cris's POV.
> 
> Anyways, so i hope you guys liked this. I'm sorry it took so long to post. I promise I'm not abandoning this.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks to the few who left them. And thanks to everyone for reading.
> 
> Please remember that I love all feedback, and that it'll probably make my day! :) Thanks again.


	9. Let the Games .. Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: There is some serious Gerrard bashing. I don't mean anything by it. I really do like Steven and I do not agree with anything I may or may not say. I'm sorry if someone gets offended. It's all Sidney's fault, not mine.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

Chapter Nine:

Sidney blinks awake and goes to move but - he can't. There's an arm wrapped around him and - is someone playing with his hair?

The memories of last night come flooding into his mind. He remembers having a nightmare, and waking up to find Cristiano leaning over him. Sid's breath hitches when he thinks about the emotion pouring through the Portuguese's eyes - God, this is incredibly dangerous.

"Are you up?" Ronaldo asks.

"Yeah." Sid mumbles, pressing his forehead into the crook of the Portuguese's neck.

"I should probably leave before your stylists come." Cristiano points out.

"Probably." Sidney agrees.

Neither of them move until Cris asks "You want breakfast?" an hour later.

"I love these pancakes." Sidney says, stabbing a piece with his fork to give to Ronaldo.

Cristiano playfully rolls his eyes, "Canadians and their maple syrup." He says and makes a big show of putting his mouth on the fork and slowly pulling back.

"You're an ass, I hope you know that." Sidney teases.

"That's why all the ladies love me." Cris winks, "And some of the guys too."

Sid's cheeks burn and he feels stupid for it, "You don't love any of them, right?"

Sidney wants to take the words back the moment they're out of his mouth. Ronaldo's warm smile contorts into a frown before he just purses his lips, "I'm not sure I know how." He thinks it over before adding, "I know how to do it physically, you know? Mentally or emotionally I wouldn't know what to do, or how to do it .. but it wouldn't be to hard to learn I guess."

Sid nods and ignores the knot in his stomach, "I've never really used the word 'love' until after I got back. Because almost dying makes you .. appreciate things more, you know? Like, the relationships you have seem to be more important than before."

Cristiano sighs, "My father died when I was little and my mother .. she disappeared with the rest of my siblings shortly after. I lived with my grandma for a while but she's .. unstable, to say the least."

Sidney gasps, "H-how did you get by?"

Ronaldo looks away, as if he were ashamed, "By .. learning to love people .. physically."

Sid grabs his hand without thinking, "That's horrible. No .. no one should have to go through that. I'm .."

"Have you ever..?"

"No. I've never even been kissed before." Sid blurts out and instantly blushes.

Instead of laughing - like Sid expected him to - Cristiano moves closer, their lips practically touching, "That's a shame."

Before Sidney can answer the door is swung open and an ecstatic Kaner sings "Sid-ney!" before squaking loudly. 

Cristiano sighs as he stands up, "See you later, Sidney."

Jonny and Kaner stare in shock and awe while Irina looks on more proud than anything. Sidney's cheeks turn an even deeper red as he stands up, "Um, are we getting started now?"

Iri grins, "Yes. Get move on, boys."

"Yes, of course." Jonny says in a flat voice. Patrick shakes his head and follows them into the bathroom.

~

Sidney looks at his outfit as Claude comes out of his room, "Where are we going? Antarctica?"

The ginger snorts, "Probably. That way we'll either freeze to death or dehydrate if we're not killed soon enough."

"They don't get better than that, eh?" Sid asks, teasingly of course.

Sidney looks down at the large black winter coat draped around his upper body - which if he's being honest with himself is pretty damn comfortable - and the tight jeans that show off his thighs (or so Irina had told him). The boots on his feet are brown and definitely made for snow.

"Hey." Mario says and hugs Sid, pulling him in tight.

"Hi." Sid whispers, letting himself melt in the older man's arms. The only arms he's ever felt truly safe in.

"I love you so much. So damn much."

"I love you too, Mario. You've always been like a father to me." Sid says, tears threatening to spill.

The older man tenses for a second but quickly relaxes, "I know. Trust me, I do. I-I promise you're gonna get out of there - one way or another."

Sid pulls back just in time as Marc comes over to embrace them both. The two mentors share a look, before Mario sighs and nods.

"You two don't have to work together or anything, but I want you both to stay as close to the back wall for as long as you can. Understood?" Marc demands.

"Okay, but why?" Sid asks.

" _All tributes must be ushered to the plane right now._ " A voice over the PA system announces, " _Anyone who resists will be knocked unconscious for the duration of the flight.._ "

"Remember, you're not dead yet! So don't think about it!" Mario shouts over the loud noise of the landing plane. Sid nods, his throat swelling up because - holy shit, this is _real_.

A guard grabs Sidney by the elbow and forces him into the line of tributes. He can't see Cristiano anywhere, meaning he's on the other plane - which, that's good. They could use a little time apart. However, he'd rather by sharing any amount of space with Cristiano over Steven Gerrard, who just happens to be standing in front of him. Just his luck. He'd managed to avoid the little prick this entire time, yet now they're forced together. Sidney will have no trouble spending the rest of the ride unconscious for punching Gerrard's light outs if he even opens his mouth.

Beside Sid, Claude holds out his hand and gives a soothing smile. Sidney squeezes the offered hand, lacing their fingers together. A few seconds later, there's a tap on the other side of his leg.

"Come on. We're not just in this for the killing, right? Let's stick it to them." Gerrard says, stretching out his hand. Sid takes a look around to realize everyone else is doing it, too. Sid slides his hand into the Brit's. And he absolutely does not enjoy how stupidly big and warm it is.

Sid opens and closes his mouth several times trying to decide whether or not to say something about the backwall - it seems like the civil thing to do. Thankfully, he's put out of his misery when a needle presses into his neck.

~

Sidney blinks rapidly. His eyes quickly adjusts to the bright light. The cold wind slaps him violently across the face and penetrates his jacket, causing him to shiver. He takes a look around and finds he's surrounded by tributes - and snow. The outfits of the other tributes contrast to the white falling from the roof of the arena.

" _Tributes, you have sixty seconds!_ "

Sid snaps to attention and eyes the Cornucopia. He sees several backpacks and large weapons. It's to much of a risk for him to even attempt picking up something that heavy. A backpack would have to do for now, unless he can get his hands on a knife or something.

The horn blares and everyone starts running for the Cornucopia.


	10. Day One of the Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really suggest listening to Bleak December by Set it Off while reading this chapter.. I'm not sure why, but I did. I think it helps to set the mood, or something.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S, I strongly despise the Islanders (hockey reference btw...)

Chapter Ten:

Suddenly the horn blares and Sidney sprints, grabbing the first backpack he sees and a small pocket knife. He's about to keep going before - _oh shit, Claude_. He's about to turn around when he sees a flash of ginger running up to him.

"Come on!" Sid hisses, reaching for his fellow tributes wrist before they run away together. He doesn't see Cristiano or that Swedish kid (what was the point of learning his name?) However, he knows they away and are finding their own safe point.

**Mario lets out the breath he was holding and laughs out of relief. His hands shake uncontrollably, his heart furiously thuds against his ribcage. Marc squeezes his shoulder.**

**"I told you he'd be alright." Marc whispers, tears streaking down his cheeks.**

Cristiano sighs and leans against the nearest tree. He instantly jumps away when the icy chill penetrates his piece of shit jacket. It was clearly designed for comfort, not to survive the frozen tundra. Sometimes he doesn't know if the Capital is that stupid or they pull this shit on purpose.

As he continues his trudge - where he's even going remains a mystery - in the snow covered forest he can't stop thinking about Sidney. Which is totally stupid, right?

No, what's stupid is ever believing they had something - or believing they were allowed to. He never should've bothered to the Canadian, never should've ran in that from last night. God, why does he do this to himself? This was all supposed to be simple, not fucking complicated,

Canons start firing. _One. Two. Three. Four._ Four? Four?! They're all dead. The Gamemakers are going to kill them all ASAP now. Jesus christ, why does he even rely on these people?

Sighing, he forces his mind to wander back to this morning. He overheard Joāo talking to himself, muttering something about the back wall.

He spins on his heels and begins his hunt for Joāo Periera.

**Fábio may or may not be strutting around with pride. His tributes survived the bloodbath! It's Cristiano, but still. _His_ tribute. Who'd ever thought they'd see the day?**

**Step one, complete. Now time for step two, getting sponsors.**

**"Sergio Ramos! So good to see you, old friend." Fábio says and smiles warmly.**

**Sergio beams, causing the cat face paint to stretch, "Fábio Coentrāo! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"**

**Fábio resists the urge to cringe at how much of a Capital tool this guy has become, "As you know, Cristiano Ronaldo is my tribute, and he has a very high chance of winning. To assure that he does, he'll need sponsors."**

**"I'd love to help you and Cristiano." Sergio says, "But I need to know if he plans on working with someone, it might change my decision."**

**"Um.. Cristiano said something about teaming up with Sidney Crosby to take down the Careers," Fábio forces out, making Ramos's eyes widen, "He saw Crosby's natural talent and heard his story. Cris could not resist."**

**"The kid has a story?"**

**"Yes," Coentrāo replies, "He volunteered for his mentor _and_ father."**

**"Mario is-" Sergio's face goes through several emotions before settling on pride, "You can sign me up as your number one sponsor. Make sure you come to me first."**

**"Will do," Fábio smiles, "And by the way, you didn't hear that from me."**

Claude suddenly stops dead in his tracks, mumbling an inaudible word. 

"What?" Sid asks, "G, what's wrong?"

Suddenly the ginger is sprinting- that's when Sid sees the two figures. He tries running after the ginger, but he trips over a seemingly invisible hole, finds himself caught. There's no use in yelling, Claude is to far away and he'd never hear Sid over the wind. He-he has to do something - anything. He looks down at his ankle, managing to jiggle it loose. However, he doesn't even make it to his feet before an arrow pierces Claude's forehead.

Sidney bites down his cry and slumps down to the ground. The figure on the ground - the one Claude was trying to save - screams, "Claude!" and scrambles to his feet.

The attacker raises his bow - and Sidney jumps up, sprinting to the attacker and tackling him, without hesitation.

"What the fuck? Get the fuck off me!" Sidney doesn't recognize the face, but the French accent would suggest he's from France. It's not Cristiano or any of the Careers, unfortunately. As Sidney plunges the sharp blade of his pocket knife into the stranger's forehead, he's kind of glad it wasn't someone important (to him, anyways), that way the Gamemakers won't try any of their tricks to make the Games more.. interesting.

Sid turns around and - oh, the Swedish kid? Bäckström? Claude was friends with the kid. This seems a little extreme though, risking your life like that for a buddy. Wouldn't he had done the save for Kris if he had the chance?

"Come on." Sid says, putting a hand on Bäckström's shoulder, "We gotta go before they take the body away."

The Swede looks up at him, tears pouring from his eyes, "I-I not leave! Can't leave him.."

Sidney sighs and crouches down, "I know, he's my friend too. But we _have_ to go, now."

"You don't get! I _love_ him. Not just leave him here!" Bäckström cries, his hands starting to shake. And - oh. Sidney wasn't expecting that.

"I get that, I do. But Claude made me promise to look after you in case thing happened to him. Now, please, get up." Sid pleads, biting his bottom lip.

Bäckström sighs, pressing his lips to Claude's forehead and sliding down his eyelids. They both stand up, but Bäckström wobbles, a his knee twisting awkwardly. Sidney takes the kid's arm and puts it around his shoulders, and continues his trek to the backwall.

**All of the mentors and sponsors look at each other, either awed or surprised by the scene that just unfolded in front of them. Sara Carbonero dabs the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief before handing it back to Iker, who doesn't move his eyes from the screen.**

**_There you go kid,_ Mario thinks, _Just a little longer now._**

**Little did he know, the plan has hit a major road bump.**

Marcel Goc looks at the men around him - the Careers. Bitch _please_. There were only four dominate people in this Games. Only one stood amongst them. The other three being Gerrard, Ronaldo, and Crosby.

Gerrard is a little prick, they all know that. Always trying to start shit with people, and then he runs away like a pussy when the shit turns serious. Nevertheless, the kid has some skills. Gerrard's about eighteen, maybe nineteen. He's obviously matured from when he was twelve. His crush on Crosby is so hilarious it almost makes the kid tolerable.

Speaking of Crosby, the Canadian is a threat. Doesn't look like one, but he is. Marcel is psychotic, yes, but not stupid. He knows Crosby is intelligent, strong, and good with his hands. The kid's a beast with weapons, especially that knife of his. It's not surprise they both got tens.

Ronaldo is the Capital's golden boy, through and through. There will never be another contestant as beloved as the Portuguese. He's also one of the best axe weilders Marcelhas ever seen - possibly even _the best_. Marcel's German, so that's saying something. Not to mention Ronaldo's fast on his feet and a quick thinker.

Marcel will have no trouble keeping the Careers away from them. Keeping the three of them from killing _each other_ is going to be challenging, to say the least.


	11. Heavy metal broke my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of day one and all of day two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of this work is inspired off of the song Centuries by Fall Out Boy, I really suggest listening to it as you read this. But that is, of course, up to you.
> 
> XABI OLSANSO'S BIRTHDAY WAS FIVE DAYS AGO!! HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY ABI!!

Chapter Eleven:

Sidney puts Bäckström down by the nearest tree and plops down just as the anthem starts. The seal disappears and is replaced by today's dead tributes. Digne, Busquets, Navas, Tevez. He looks away before they show Claude's face. Sid breaths a sigh of relief - Cristiano isn't dead. Which - Sid didn't expect him to be, but it's still good to know he's still breathing.

_Day Two_

**David removes himself from under the blanket. He's completely prepared to murder what fucker decided to wake him up.**

**"Hey sleepy head." Wayne says, grinning proudly.**

**"Da fuck do you want?" David groans. He contemplates hiding under the covers.**

**"Oh, it's time."**

Sidney blinks the sleep out of his eyes, ranking a hand through his snow covered hair. He starts to move, but something lands on his shoulder. He instantly goes for his knife - but,oh, it's just the Swedish kid

"Hey." Sid says, shaking him awake, "we gotta keep moving."

Bäckström groans softly, but gets up anyways. He wobbles doing so, but doesn't lean to heavily on Sid. Neither of them talk for a while, but it's not awkward or forced. It's kind of a companionable silence, one made of understanding.

He knew Claude was interested in guys - if his hesitation the day they filled out their forms was any indication - but he never considered the ginger and Nicklas to be anything more than allies - friends. They're both sweet and dependent on him. So it does make sense.

"Why are you doing this?" Nicklas asks while they're resting, "I mean, I know Claude asked you to, but you could' said no. So, why?"

Sid sighs, "Claude was.. it felt like he was my tribute, like I had to protect him. I mean, the kid didn't have much faith in himself. The only thing he cared about was you. When he asked if I'd watch over you, it's not like I could say no."

Nicklas closes his eyes, leang against the tree. Sidney glances over at him and continues, "He also said you were strong and intelligent, that you shouldn't be overlooked." The corners of Bäckström's mouth twitch upwards, accomplishing Sid's goal.

Sidny takes the kid's arm, putting it over his own shoulders, as they trek forward. They have to find a place to rest soon. The Swede's knee is messed up, probably from the attack, and all this walking isn't good for him.

_boom_

Sid nearly jumps at the canon. He spends the next several minutes taking relaxing breaths, forcing himself to stop thinking about whoever's heart stopping had caused it.

**Carvina wipes the corner of her eyes. Oh god, this Canadian kid is really getting to her. She's going to hate watching him die.**

**It's a good thing Cristiano decided to team up with him, the kid's getting sponsors left and right. His mentors haven't had to do much of anything besides ask - which, they haven't evem done that yet. God knows he could use a weapon.**

**Carvina glances over at Fábio. The poor kid is hopelessly in love with Cristiano. It's so cute. He was going to confess after the reaping, the only time they really see each other, but then the whole rereaping thing happened. Poor, young Fábio. Carvina feels so bad for him.**

**She shifts her attention back to the screen.**

Cristiano kicks the snow out of his path. Stupid Gamemakers. Couldn't they have picked a better arena? Like water? Or anything other than a replica of Antarctica? Fucking Gamemakers. Why does it have to be so cold? God, what he would give to cuddle with-

Cris shakes the mental image of him laying in bed with a certain someone from his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Himself, he wants to cuddle with himself.

Suddenly - something moves. He barely sees it out of the corner of his eye. On instinct, he whips around and draws his weapon. After all, Cristiano Ronaldo isn't afraid of anyone.

It's - it's Marcel.. Goc. Marcel fucking Goc. Why doesn't he have any luck?

He and the German just stare.. at each other. Neither one making a move. Cris flexes his fingers a few times, tempting the other to do something.

Suddenly, someone comes rushing out of the bushes, and Goc clotheslines them. The stranger does a full 360 in the air before landing on his back with a huff.

"What the bloody hell?" The man - who Cris recognizes as Nathan Walker - coughs out. Goc steps on Walker's throat, a loud crunching sound filling the tense air. Cris straightens up, preparing for a fight.

The German shakes his head, and walks in the opposite direction.

Cristiano blinks - what the fuck just happened? He guesses he should be thankful, or something. Goc did just kill that guy and sacrificed him, or whatever it is just occurred. 

He's so done with these people, just done.

**Marc has to cover his mouth as Walker's mentor throws his papers up into the air, the first sign of his mental breakdown.**

**"So fucking done with this bullshit!" He shrieks, storming out of the building.**

Steven jumps at the canon, but relaxes quickly. There's no need to panic. The likelihood of them being killed is very low. He just needs to find Goc. Soon, very soon. The sooner to meet up the sooner this bullshit is over. Maybe Nathan will make it till then.

Yeah, that's unlikely.

~

Joāo peers up at the sky as the anthem starts to play. A few faces flash by that he doesn't recognize - not that he cares to. The only person he cares about is Ronaldo and his little fuckbuddy.

Being able to wrap his hands around their throats, squeezing so hard the bone breaks into pieces and blood oozes through his fingers. Watch the life drain out of their eyes.That's what his goal is. Oh, god, he can already picture it now. He'd do Crosby first, make Ronaldo watch. The look on his fellow tribute's face, the pleas spilling out of his mouth, the tears wetting his cheeks.

Oh, he can't wait for the day.

**"Come on, Mario, you gotta get some sleep." Marc pleads, pulling on the older man's shirt.**

**Mario rubs at his eyes and points at the screen, "Not until he does."**

Sidney breaths a sigh of relief when he doesn't see Cristiano's face in the sky. Which - it's stupid. It's not like it matters. Their little thing in the Capital - whatever it was - was just for fun, it's over now.

"Hey! Look!" Nicky says, pointing in front of them.

Sidney blinks - is that a cave?

He props the Swede up against a tree, "Wait here."

Armed with his knife, Sidney hesitantly looks around he runs his hand along the smooth wall. Smiling, he grabs Bäckström and helps the kid lay down.

"I guess our luck has finally kicked in, eh?" Sid asks. Nicklas nods his silently, his eyelids fluttering shut. Sidney finds some sticks and other objects to build a barrier around the rather small entrance before laying down himself.

He crosses his arm over his chest, knife still firmly in his grasp, and stares ahead.

**Mario flops down into the chair, eyes shut. For several minutes Marc thinks he's dead.**

**"Marc-Andre!" Hilary Knight squeals, running up to him, "Is it true that Mario is Sidney's father?"**

**Marc smile falters a little, but quickly returns, this is exactly what he needs. "Yes he is. Mario is so distraught he doesn't even want to eat, let alone move from the camera. In pity of my friend's father's health, I have to step in as mentor."**

**"I would be very glad to help." Hilary chokes out, her eyes tearing up.**

**"Thank you. A weapon would be fantastic."**


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. On the first day._
> 
> _Six. Seven. Eight. On the second._
> 
> _Twelve. There's twelve of them left on day three._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys know its been over a month since this thing has started? This has honestly came out a lot better than what I thought it would.
> 
> Okay, so you really don't need to know who died if they don't have a POV because they're not actually important. Which, as sad as it is, is the truth. But for anyone curious, I'll be posting the URL to my Livejournal and Dreamwidth posts containing that information.
> 
> Thanks for reading. All feedback is greatly appreciated.

Chapter Twelve

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. On the first day._

_Six. Seven. Eight. On the second._

_Twelve. There's twelve of them left on day three._

**David finds himself staring up at the ceiling a lot these days - wondering how in the hell this is supposed to work, if they were even doing the right thing. In theory, they are. But is it the right thing for him? What if he gets caught? What if they get caught? What if there's to many? Who lives? Who dies?**

**Then his mind wanders back to his childhood. Of playing football in the backyard. Of scoring goals and penalty kicks. Feeling like he was finally able to play a game without dying. Feeling like he was _free_. In a sense, he was.**

**He could run as fast as he wanted, go where he wanted. He used the speed and power in his legs to show everyone who watched him in that backyard that he's the best. That he's the strongest, the fastest. That he's on top.**

**He sees that same desire to be the best in Cristiano's eyes. David sees the desire to be the best, to be free, in those eyes. To show everyone he's more than a Capital boy toy. That he's a winner in and out of the arena.**

**He hopes one day they can share the experience.**

**"Come on David, get a move on." Wayne demands, hope sparkling in his eyes. David grins because he knows he's doing the right thing, even if sometimes it doesn't feel like it.**

_"Sid, if we have to give you a weapon, what do you want?"_

_"A scythe, for sure."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yeah. It kind of looks like a hockey stick and I'd look totally bad ass. Plus, you know I used one last time."_

Sidney has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop the squeal about to escape his lips when something cold touches his leg. At first, he thinks it's a hand (which isn't a bad assumption since they're in Antarctica 2.0) but then he realizes Nicky is awake and would undoubtedly say something.

"Sidney, it's - oh my god. It's a bag." Nicklas whispers, scrambling for it.

Sid gets up too. He grabs the black duffel bag gently, reading the tag _We need you -M_ , he feels a small smile creep onto his lips.

"Come on, let's open it!" The Swede demands, reaching for the zipper. Sidney scoots back and watches.

The first thing that comes out is a small beige tube that claims to "Fix all your knee problems". Bäckström squirts a little bit onto his pinkie finger and rubs around his knee cap.

"Feel any different?" Sid asks as he's sliding the bag to himself.

Nicklas closes his eyes, "Yeah.. yeah."

The Canadian reaches his hand inside. Another, more mischievous, smile creeps onto his face as his fingers tighten around cool, smooth metal.

**Mario stretches and yawns, scrubbing a hand through his short hair. His eyes instantly flicker to the screen in front of him.**

**"How long have I been asleep?" Mario asks.**

**Marc puts a hand on his shoulder. "It doesn't matter, keep resting. I have this under control."**

**Mario opens his mouth to protest, but his eyelids start to get heavy again. So he just leans back and lets sleep wash over him.**

**Thankfully, he doesn't see the traitorous grin stretch across Marc's face**

Steven didn't want to be here - he didn't. He never wanted to come back into the arena. He was perfectly fine putting on a facade of cockiness and arrogance, pretending like he was the proverbial shit. In reality, he knew he got lucky. That, just like everything else in life, the win was handed to him on a silver platter.

When he was told the volunteer after last year's Games, he wasn't given an explanation or a reason. But Steven knew it was something he had to do, despite the fear that rose up into his throat whenever he thought about the arena, the Games. Even now he's terrified of death, of the inevitable. But he knows that things are different, that he wont die.

He was promised.

**Wayne finds himself wondering about the what if's of life a lot these day.**

**What if he was never apart of the Games? What if David wasn't? Or Gary? Or Sidney? Or Cristiano? What if they get caught? What if someone tells? What if something - or everything - goes wrong? What if they never decided to do this to begin with?**

**When panic makes his chest tighten up, he goes back to thinking about his youth. When it was so cold the pond in his backyard froze. His father helped him put on skates and handed him a stick. He'd drop the puck and show Wayne how to forecheck, to backhand, to deek, etcetera. He remembers being so mesmerized by this beautiful game called ''hockey'' that he didn't feel the cold.**

**He hasn't been there in a while. Not since his parents sold their home and bought a bigger, better one in an upper class with the money he won from the Games. He hasn't seen it since he moved to the Capital to take a job as secondary Game maker.**

**He wonders if Sidney would like it. If he'd enjoy gliding across the ice, shooting a puck into a makeshift net. He hopes one day they can share the experience.**

**Wayne's eyes widen in surprise, fists clenched at his sides. "What do you mean we have to wait?"**

Sidney makes sure Nicky is asleep before he leaves. He twists the scythe in his hand, it makes him feel like he's back and the Games are truly beginning. He has to bite down a smile because now he feels like he can actually win this thing. Scythe in his hand, pocket knife strapped to his belt, he feels like he can take down the Capital if he so chose to.

He spies a good looking squirrel ten, maybe fifteen, feet off. He approaches it, slowly, carefully. Raising his scythe, he stabs it in the head. Sighing, he pu-

Before he can react, he's being lifted up off the ground and slammed back down. Air rushes out of his lungs and the chance of getting any of it back is impaired when a pair of hands wrap around his throat. He tries to punch his attacker, but his arms end up flailing around because he cant reach.

The stranger chuckles, "Lets see the Capital help you now, _faggot_."

 _Joāo Periera?_ Sidney thinks upon hearing the deep, Portuguese accent.

Periera smiles - no, _grins_ \- at him, showing all his teeth. Sidney twists and turns, even manages to catch him in the jaw with a left - but it isn't enough. He gasps for air, feels his lungs shrink. Periera keeps chuckling, face inches from Sidney's so he can watch the life drain out of his eyes.

**"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Wayne curses, hand raking through his hair as he stares at the scene. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."**

**"Where the fuck are they at?!" David yells to no one in particular as he furiously paces, "There's fucking four of them in there! What the _fuck_?"**

**Roger sighs quietly and exits the room to get some air - but he runs into President Michael Richardson III.**

**"Is everything okay in there? I heard Mr. Beckham shouting-"**

**"Oh, yes. Everything is fine." Roger says quickly, faking a smile, "I think the tribute he was rooting for is getting attacked."**

**Richardson looks unimpressed, "Is that it?"**

**"Yes, sir."**

**"Well, Mr. Goodell. Maybe you should come to my office and we can watch the Games in peace." Richardson suggest, beaming.**

**Goodell swallows past the lump in his throat. No one ever goes into the office except the President and Head Gamemaker. "I'd like that, sir."**

Sidney's done, he knows it.

_boom_

**David freezes, eyes wide. Wayne drops into his chair, and lets his hand drop to his side.**

**~**

**Marc chokes off a scream, holding onto the table so he won't fall. Mario's wide awake now, standing a foot from the screen, quiet pleas falling from his lips.**

**He promised.**

 ** _He promised._**


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One. Two. Three. Four. Five. On day one.
> 
> Six. Seven. Eight. On day two.
> 
> Nine. Ten. On day three.
> 
> Ten. Ten are left on day four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we finish day three and move onto day four.
> 
> Happy New Year's Eve, guys (or New Year's depending on where this may find you)! Hopefully the Pens can break their four game losing streak tonight (hockey reference). And I can't believe Madrid lost to Milan, just no (football reference).

Chapter 13:

Cristiano throws the body to the side, lip curling in disgust. His weapon will definitely need to get cleaned later. First kill of the Games and he's already tired of the blood.

He watches Sidney turn to his side and cough, taking in deep breaths. Cris stares because he isn't entirely sure what to do. He knows what they talked about at the Capital, but that was the Capital and this is the arena. Things change in between the transition.

Cris curses himself for how quickly he reacted upon seeing his fellow countryman attack the Canadian, how his heart beat had quickened. He didn't think twice before he ran over there to rescue Sidney, to kill Joāo. It's an insult to kill the tribute from your own country - but he is Cristiano Ronaldo. So maybe that'll make up for it.

"Hey." Sidney says, looking up at him.

"Hey." Cris says and extends his hand. Crosby takes it graciously, allowing the Portuguese to help pull him up so he can dust off his jeans. Cristiano doesn't mean to stare - but how can he not when he looks that good?

"I kind of have a friend with me," Sidney pauses to cough, his voice raspy as he continues, "I'm not sure how well he can walk since he was hurt," another cough "I hope that doesn't change things."

A wave of relief washes over Cristiano, "Of course not... Unless things changed for you."

The corners of Sidney's mouth twitch, "Nope."

"Good." Cris nods. He watches silently as Sidney coughs again, and goes to pick up a scythe from a dead squirrel.

"Dinner? I caught it myself." Sidney asks, a smile appearing on his face.

Cris chuckles, "Sounds good to me."

A blush creeps onto the Canadian's face as he explains how they found a cave, but it's a tight squeeze, so the sleeping situation might be a little uncomfortable. Cris nods along silently, enjoying the sound of the other's voice.

~

"Has anyone seen Stephane?" Jozy asks, hands on his hips.

Marcel has a flashback to yesterday when he curb stomped Da Costa. The kid was asking to many questions about Nathan Walker. If any one of the Careers learned that Goc had killed him, they'd surely turn on him. Granted, he could take them, but it was much to earlier for that.

"Yeah. Up in the sky last night." Ballard says, hinting to Altidore's constant sleeping. Marcelo suppresses an eye roll. These Americans are always arguing.

Jozy grunts as he sits down, but otherwise stays quiet. Mario gives Marcel a knowing look. The silence will never remain.

**Wayne lets out a shaky breath. That was a close one. "We can't let that happen again."**

**"I know." David says, "I'm so glad we picked the right ones."**

**"Yes. We'll have to give Mr. Malkin our gratitude. His services are phenomenal." Gary says, "Has anyone seen Roger?"**

**David and Wayne both turns their heads. "He was right there." Wayne says.**

**"Oh shit."**

"Nicky. Hey." Sidney shakes the Swede awake.

"Huh? What's wrong?" Nicklas asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to let you know that Cristiano is joining us." Sid says.

Bäckström nods, "Okay. That's cool."

"Good. Now get up and cook the squirrel I caught."

Nicky gets up quickly (or as fast with someone with a bum knee can) and makes a tiny fire as Cris skins the animal.

~

Marcel sighs as he stabs Jozy in the head. He proceeds to run into the forest, as if he was chasing someone.

_boom_

"The fuck?!" Mario shouts in German as Marcel comes out of the forest.

Marcel holds up a hand as he catches his breath. "I woke up and I saw someone so I chased after him.. but he got away."

Ballard kneels next to his countryman, "Fuck. He was on watch, too."

"Who was it?" Götze asks.

"I don't know.. I didn't get a good look." It's so easy to lie to them.

"Probably Gerrard, the little fuck." Keith says, leaning back on his heels.

They all look up as the seal appears in the sky, casting a light on them. Joāo Periera's and Altidore's face follow, then the sky goes dark again.

"I'll take watch." Ballard volunteers.

Marcel lays down next to Götze and lets his eyelids slide shut.

~

"I heard a canon." Sidney says, scrambling to sit up as the sound fades away.

Cristiano puts a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes him back down, "It's nothing. Just go back to sleep."

"Okay." Sid whispers, "Wait, Cristiano."

"Yes?"

Sidney puts a hand on the Portuguese's bicep, "I'm really glad you found me."

Cris smiles and pats the other man's thigh, "Me too."

"I thought I'd never see you again." Sid confesses, a blush forming on his cheeks visible from the moonlight.

"I'll never leave your side ever again. I promise." Cristiano says, pressing a kiss to the Canadian's cheek and watches the other's eyelids slide shut.

_Day Four_

Marcel looks at the knife in his hands, flexing his fingers onto the grip. He doesn't think about the blood that has long since hardened into the crevices of his boots, but he knows it's there. Just like he knows Jozy's blood is still on his knife despite being washed off.

He doesn't want Keith's blood on his knife, under his boot, or anywhere near him. But if the kid keeps asking questions - the wrong questions - then he'll have to.

"Take Ballard with you and hunt, I'll stay here and watch camp." Götze says, brushing the back of his hand against Marcel's. The other German smiles at the affectionate tone in his countryman's voice.

"Okay." Goc agrees, he grabs his sword and brings the still distraught American into the barren forest.

Squirrels and the rare deer somehow manage to call the naked trees and snow covered ground home. The trees - if you can even call them that since they literally have no leaves - provide little to no shelter. And it's a miracle they don't freeze to death from the constant snow and below zero features. But this is an arena, and this is game. So nothing should really be that surprising.

"Why'd you do it?"

Marcel looks at his alliance member, feigning confusion, "Do what?"

"Kill him - Jozy." Keith says. "Look, I know you did it. No one would be stupid enough to approach you. Besides, you could catch anyone of these fuckers if you really wanted to. Except Crosby, maybe. But he isn't stupid. So why? Why did you do it?"

"Look, kid. Once someone is dead, they're dead. It doesn't matter who killed them or why. It's over." Goc deflects.

Ballard crosses his arms over his chest and shivers from the cold. "I get that you're like a psycho, or whatever. But Jozy was my friend and-"

"Well, your _friend_ was asking to many questions about Walker. Now shut your fucking mouth before I kill you like I did them." Marcel growls, fists balled at his sides.

Keith takes a few steps back, a choked off scream escaping his lips, "You killed _Walker_?" He gasps, "Did you - did you plan on killing us all off? One by one? Are you that much of a psychotic freak?"

Marcel's blood starts to boil. It's a bad idea, but he doesn't stop the left that connects to the American's jaw, or the right, or the second left and another right. He doesn't stop pummeling Keith's face even when they fall to the ground, Marcel straddles his hips and keeps swinging. He hears multiple breaking and crunching sounds, most from the kid's face but a few from his own knuckles, and blood splatters everywhere. But he doesn't see any of it - his vision has long since turned red from rage.

He is _not_ a freak. He is _not_ psychotic. The Capital strapped him to a bed and injected drugs into his system when he turned ten and he didn't move until he was thirteen. Even then he was still given drug, but now he was trained non stop for hours everyday in a brutal military boot camp designed for adults. They taught him not only to survive, but to kill and not be remorseful, to not feel pain. Discipline was shoved down his throat. Follow the Capital's orders, kill who the Capital says. Then he went into the Games and he snapped. He snapped and killed everyone within reach. It didn't matter how he did it as long as he did.

He was turned into a monster. Things have changed - he's changed. Now things are different. And he isn't going to tolerate this bullshit from people who don't know what the fuck they're talking about.

"Marcel!" Mario's voice pierces through to his ears, forcing him back to reality, "He's dead! Stop!"

Marcel lets himself be pushed over, allows Götze to straddle him.

"You okay?" Mario asks, running a hand through his countryman's short, black hair. Marcel smirks and stares up into those beautiful, breathtaking eyes.

"I am now." Marcel replies and closes the distance between their lips.

**The room - and quite possibly the entire world - stares at the screen in utter shock as a group of women (and Henrik Lundqvist) squeal in excitement.**

**"Oh! The love is in the air this year!" Hilary says, clapping her hands together.**

**Carvina looks around for Fábio - and her husband - but can not find either of them. It's a shame they're not here to see this.**

Nicky shifts uncomfortably. Yeah, he definitely has to pee. But Sidney's asleep and he hasn't ever left the cave by himself. It's not that he's afraid to, not by any means. He just doesn't know what the rules are.

"Nicky, are you okay?" Crosby asks, opening up an eye to look at him.

"Yeah.. but I kind of have to use the.. bathroom." Nicklas responds.

The Canadian nods and closes his eye. "Okay.. Just don't go to far.. and be quick."

Slowly, the Swede gets up and gets out. He stretches his limbs and checks his knee before he.. does his business.

He let's himself take in his surroundings for the first time. The piles of snow and leafless trees remind him of winters in Sweden, of playing hockey on the neighborhood pond with his friends once it has frozen over. God, what he wouldn't give to go back to that time. To the time of innocence and a misunderstanding of the world around him. Of being young and naïve. Of believing the only monsters that existed lived under his bed.

He misses his mother's hugs. His last memory is of her tiny hands fixing his bow tie before the reap-

_boom_

**"FUCK! FUCK!" Zlatan screams, pounding on the table in front of him as he curses in Swedish. "That's fucking bullshit!" Henrik puts a hand on his fellow mentor's shoulder, tears flowing free from his eyes.**

**"What the fuck?!" Ibrahimovic screeches. He turns to Henrik, throwing his arm around his friend's shoulder and wailing.**

Sidney jumps up at the sound of the canon, his heart going a hundred miles an hour.

"Fuck. What's wrong?" Cristiano asks, scrambling to sit up.

The Canadian doesn't respond. Instead he gets out of the cave and whispers their missing alliance member's name as loud as he can.

"Nicky!" Sidney whispers, cupping his hand around his mouth.

He turns around and - oh God. _No_.

"Oh my - oh my God." Cristiano gasps, hand on Sidney's shoulder.

He shakes off the hand and runs to the body. He turns it over and - he barely bites down the scream that wants to rip from his throat.

"Oh my - Sidney, we have to go." Ronaldo points put.

Sid ignores him, and puts his hand on Nicky's face - dead face. "Still warm." He says to himself.

He speed walks back to the cave, letting Cristiano's protests and pleas fall upon deaf ears. He grabs his scythe - whoever decided to kill his ally can't be to far away.

"Sidney. You have to stop. We don't know who's over there. It could be Goc for all we know." Cristiano pleads.

Sid picks up his pace, but the Portuguese keeps up. "I'm not scared of Goc. I'm not scared of anyone."

Cristiano looks at him but remains silent.

Sidney isn't sure who sees, but he sees someone. And that someone is holding a bow, a sheath of arrows on his back. Similar to the puncture wound on the back of Nicky's head. The stranger has his back to them, but Sidney can see he's washing his hands. Cleaning blood off his hands.

Cleaning Nicky's blood off his hands.

Sid doesn't hesitate, just runs. He tackles the guy to the ground. A string of Russian emits from his mouth. He instantly recognizes the stranger as Nikita Filatov.

"You think it's okay to kill my people? Huh?!" Sidney yells as he slams his scythe into Filatov's head, pulls it out, and slams it back in. "You killed Nicky! You fucking bastard!"

A pair of hands lift him up and away from the mess that was the Russian tribute. Sidney trashes and squirms, curses spilling from his lips. Eventually, his feet touch the ground and he tries to fight the Portuguese.

"Sidney, calm down." Cristiano says, grabbing his wrists.

Tears flow freely down the Canadian's cheeks as he continues to struggle. "Fuck you!" He yells. He opens his mouth to say more, but a pair of lips are pressed against his.

Sidney goes limp as he closes his eyes, doing his best to kiss back. It feels like a million fireworks are going off. He can't think about anything other than the man in front of him, the pair of lips moving slightly against his.

**Fábio walks back into the room of mentors. All of their eyes are locked on the screen. He doesn't get it at first but then he looks and -**

**_Oh fuck no_ **

**No, no, no, no. _No_. Cristiano is his. _His_. Everyone knows this. Cris is going to come out of the Games and him and Fábio are going to be together. Hell, they're going to be the Capital's favorite couple long after they're both dead. If not the rest of eternity.**

**So Cristiano lip locking with this - this _nobody_ is completely unacceptable. Someone has to put a stop to this.**

Steven heard the shouting and instantly ran towards it. He hid behind a tree and casually peered over.

_boom_

He watches Crosby repeatedly stab Nikita Filatov in the head with his scythe. Which, as much as he hates to say it, turns him on. Bad.

He sees Ronaldo approach Crosby and pick him up. _Uh oh_ Steven thinks, assuming they're about to fight. Ronaldo tries to calm him down ad - okay. That's a good thing.

Then they kiss. And Steven's heart drops to his stomach.

 _Three dead so far. So there's seven of us left._ Stevens thinks as he quietly leaves the scene.

~

Marcel cuddles up next to Mario, resting his head on his shoulder.

"How many?" Marcel asks, gesturing to the sky as it dims.

"Three. Keith, Bäckström, and Filatov." Mario says, "That leaves seven of us."

"You , me, Crosby, Ronaldo, Gerrard, Fanat, Híguaín." Goc whispers. "We're so close."

"Yeah," Götze agrees, his voice wistful. "What're we gonna do if it's.. just us?"

Marcel opens his mouth to say they don't have to worry about it, but he can't. They're being watched. "We'll figure it out when we get there." He says instead. Mario kisses the top of his head.

"Mario," Marcel says and looks up at his lover, "I've been meaning to tell you this for awhile, but I was always to afraid." He pauses to take a deep breath. "I love you."

Mario gasps. "I love you too. Have ever since I saw you at the camp."

Marcel doesn't try to bite back the grin that creeps onto his face as he kisses his countryman goodnight


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One. Two. Three. Four. Five. On day one.
> 
> Six. Seven. Eight. On day two.
> 
> Nine. Ten. On day three.
> 
> Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. On day four.
> 
> Seven are left on day five. How many will be left tomorrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I follow my plot correctly, then there will be one more chapter left. Which has totally bummed me out. But as soon as this is done ill be able to start the next one.
> 
> Once I'm done with the second work in this series, I would like to go back and do Cris's and Sid's Games, and maybe do a one shot(s) about Sid, Cris, etc being mentors. It really depends one if you guys would like to see that. So drop a comment if that would interest you.
> 
> Thanks for reading ))
> 
> P.S. I still dislike the Islanders.

Chapter Fourteen:

**"Roger. You are a well respected man in the Capital, and the most beloved Vice President we've had in a while. I would hate to ruin your reputation." Sergeant Jose Mourinho says, sitting on the table, "So, why don't you just tell us what your.. friends are up to."**

**"I don't know what you're talking about, sir." Roger deflects.**

**Mourinho chuckles, clearly unimpressed. "I know that you do, Roger."**

**"I'm afraid I really don't."**

**Jose sighs, rounding the table and opening up a file in front of Goodell.**

**"You see, Roger. We have had multiple reports that Head of Defense Gary Bettman, Head Gamemaker David Beckham and secondary Gamemaker Wayne Gretzky have-"**

**"Look, Jose. The men that you are talking about are highly respected men who love their jobs, value their lives, and would never do anything to jeopardize either of those." Roger interrupts, giving the Sergeant a stern yet determined look.**

Mourinho looks slightly taken back. "You've forced me to do this the hard way."

Steven sniffs the air - something's different. Something's off. It's day five - is it? It is. Why is it this late. Has something gone wrong? God, he hopes not. He was promised that the plan would go off without a hitch.

Has he put his faith in the wrong people?

**"We have to wait."**

**"We can't. There's to much on the line."**

**"We have to. There's no other choice."**

**"David, we've waited long enough."**

**"Just fucking listen to me for once, Wayne!"**

**"Fine. One more day.**

There's a crunching of the snow, one that's to loud to be an animal. Cristiano grabs his knife and braces himself for the attack.

He hears it before he sees it - the guy has apparently no sense of how loud he is. The stranger sneaks up behind him, but Cris is faster. He turns around and punches him square in the face. He swears in Russian, holding his nose to keep the blood from seeping out, but to no avail.

Cristiano raises his knife and plunges it into his heart.

_boom_

He sits back on his heels, wiping the blade onto the grass. Letting out a shaky breath, he counts the number of tributes remaining on his fingers.

_Me, Crosby, Goc, Gerrard, Götze, Híguaín. Six_

Glancing back to the cave, he wonders what will happen next. There's no way they'll both be able to go home, be crowned Victors. But how can he kill Sidney? Or how could he let someone else kill Sidney?

So, would he have to die? Would he have to kill himself or allow someone to murder him?

God, this is all so frustrating.

**Pavel Datsyuk sighs, throwing his hands in the air and screams in Russian as his tribute, Vladimir Fanat, is killed by Ronaldo. Mario watches in slight amusement, wondering how people can't just keep their cool. He never flipped his shit if his tribute died.**

**Maybe if it was Sidney, he would. But he doesn't have to worry about that. Ever.**

Gonzalo examines his sword, fingertips running along the cool, smooth blade. Illuminated by the moonlight above him.

_"Why the fuck did you volunteer?" Leo snaps, fists balled at his sides. "Do you think I'm not good enough? That I couldn't do it?"_

He twitches as those words ring through his ears. He was speechless at the time, he couldn't open his mouth let alone think of the words to say.

_"I'm **better** than you. I'm stronger, faster, and smarter. I would have won, again. Do you hear me? I would have won. You worthless, piece of shit." Leo growls. "I hope you die in the arena. Die."_

The confessions of his love were on the tip of his tongue. Leo has a kid, a baby named Thiago. Gonzalo couldn't just let him go back in. That would've been wrong, a heartless and inhumane move.

The Games are heartless and inhumane.

"I'm not just another piece of your Games." Gonzalo says and drives his sword through his head.

_boom_

"How many.. besides Nicky?" Sidney asks as the sky dims.

"Two. Fanat and Híguaín." Cristiano says. The Canadian nods and cuddles up against him.

"That leaves three more other than us." Sid points out.

Cris sighs and tilts Sid's head up to press a kiss against his lips. "It'll all be okay." He promises, kissing him again.

They kiss a few more times before Sid states that they should get some sleep. He offers to take the first watch, so the Portuguese lays with his head on the other tribute's thigh and tries not to think about how one of them will have to die soon.

**David looks around before he pulls out his phone and types frantically. He puts his phone back into his pocket and crosses his arms over his chest. The cold chills him to the bone, causing him to shiver and huddle closer to himself to try and conjure up some kind of warmth.**

**Wayne comes around the corner just then, a heavy wool coat wrapped tight around his body. "Whoever decided it was a good idea to have an Antarctic styled Games in the middle of winter is a fucking idiot."**

**David opens his mouth to point out that Wayne was the one who decided rebuilding Antarctica for their arena would be best because it would make their mission just that much easier, but he doesn't get to because Gary is running up to them, panic set in his eyes.**

**"They.. they have Roger and they're.." Gary pauses to breath, "Going to publicly execute him.. if he doesn't talk." David runs a hand through his hair and sighs.**

**"Will he talk?" Wayne asks.**

**Gary shrugs, "I'm not sure. I assumed he would have talked when they first grabbed him.. but he hasn't yet, so it's making me uncertain."**

**"Maybe we can get him back." David says, "Follow the game plan we made, then we'll make a plan to get him."**

**The three men share a silent nod of agreement. Seconds later, a pair of head lights shine into their eyes.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this work. But do not worry there will be a second work as this is a series. Well, as long as you guys want one there will be.
> 
> All feedback is greatly appreciated and I'd really love some comments ))

Chapter Fifteen:

**"May this man, Vice President Roger Goodell, be sentenced to death." Michael Richardson announces, his voice flat and obnoxiously loud. Roger licks at the dry blood on his lips, smirking proud. _Yes,_ he thinks _Fall right into my trap._**

**"May everyone know that this man has been convicted of treason against his own country, against _our_ home." Richardson continues. "He has tried to ruin the wonderful lives we have here in the Capital and poison our comrades. But we will not stand for this."**

**Five soldiers, each clad in red uniforms with white gloves and matching shotguns, march across the stage Roger is on. The camera man moves to get a better angle.**

**"Ready." They slowly inhale, exhale.**

**_Do it already. Come on._ **

**"Aim." They raise their weapons.**

**_Yes, yes. The perfect distraction. Now everyone will be panicking._ **

**"Fire."**

**Richardson takes a few steps back, the camera pinned on him. "Mr. Goodell is hereby stripped of his Vice Presidency. His replacement will resume the position within twenty-four hours.**

**He smiles, tight and completely false. "Welcome to day six of the Games. There are five tributes left and I can smell an ending coming soon. Please, enjoy."**

Things are to still.

There's no sound of animals rustling around. The snow has stopped falling from the sky. It's close. The end, it's close. But they're to far away.

Marcel grabs his lover's hand, "Come on, we have to move faster." Mario picks up his pace, matching the other German's.

"Why are we running?" Mario asks, his brow furrowed. Marcel puts a finger against his lips, eyes gesturing to the hidden cameras around them.

Marcel is straying far away from the plan. It was only supposed to be the five of them, if they all actually made it, that is. No one was supposed to know except those who were told, no additions. But how could he have let Mario, his love, die here in this cold arena? Goc would never, ever forgive himself. Hell, he'd rather lie next to Götze than let his heart continue to beat. Air smells better and food actually has a taste when Mario is around.

It's not like they'll mind, anyways.

At least, he hopes they don't.

**David outs his tablet down. His noise is still a little runny from watching Goodell's death. He doesn't understand why he did it. Goodell was never part of the plan. He wasn't originally one of the ten people within the organization that knew - so, why? Why did he do it?**

**"Distraction." Alexander Ovechkin says, looking directly at him. David flushes, he hadn't realized he was talking out loud.**

**"Goodell want this over, and he paid with life." Ovechkin says, "Good man."**

**None of them comment on that. Because, yes, Roger Goodell was a sleazy little shit but e was a _good man_. And they all respect him for his sacrifice.**

**It doesn't mean David understands why Roger never told them.**

**"Pull in right here." Gary instructs to the driver (whose name David doesn't actually know how to pronounce).**

**"Now what?" Wayne asks, looking slightly impatient.**

**"We wait." Gary answers. Wayne shifts and ends up pressed against David.**

**Beckham sighs. "Stop touching me."**

**Gretzky matches his sigh. "Never."**

Steven shifts uneasily from foot to foot. He hasn't seen anything scurry across the floor since the sun went down (and never came up) and the snow is falling in a slowly decreasing drizzle. He knows this is it, and he wants to jump for fucking joy because _yes they did it_. But more importantly, _he_ did it.

He gets snapped out of his thoughts when sharp German finds his ears. Gerard turns around instantly to find Marcel and Mario Götze. Their hands are intertwined and Götze is giving Goc a stern look only a lover would use. Steven doesn't question it, just raises his eyebrows at Marcel.

"Trust me." Goc says in English, presumably for Gerrard's sake. Götze reluctantly nods, his eyes drilling a hole through the Englishman.

"You take the front I'll take the back? There's a smaller chance of them attacking the both of you than me." Gerrard says, locking eyes with Goc. The German nods in agreement and leads his, uh, countryman to the directed destination.

**Fábio sucks in a deep breath, and walks over there. Mario continues putting on his jacket and shoes, not even bothering to look up.**

**"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Coentrāo?" Mario says, finally glancing at the Portuguese.**

**"I'm not sure if you have been watching the Games, but it looks like the Germans and Gerrard will be ganging up on our tributes-"**

**"Oh, look at the time!" Lemieux says, looking at his watch, "I have to run."**

**Fábio is startled, but he keeps talking. "It's a great idea, you know. Having Fleury go around and play the father-son card while you feign being sick. It's as if this whole Games have played right into your hand, actually. I mean, it's perfect. Using Crosby-"**

**"I'd never do that." Mario growls, getting in the Portuguese's face. "You don't know what you re talking about, so shut the fuck up."**

**"Uh, Mr. Lemieux? President Richardson is looking for-" Fernando Torres starts.**

**"LATER!" Mario shouts and storms out.**

"Is it still dark out?" Sidney asks, looking out of their cave.

"I don't know what's going on.. Maybe they forgot?" Cristiano replies.

Sid shakes his head. "No. They wouldn't just forget."

"They have to be around here somewhere."

They both tense and Sidney's blood freezes because that was a German accent. A _German_ accent. Presumably Goc from how thick it was.

Ronaldo grabs his weapon. "I guess.. we should go end this now."

Sidney tries to gulp past the lump in his throat, but ends up being unsuccessful. "Okay.. then we'll go search for Gerrard."

Something strange knots up in the Canadian's chest at the thought that this will be over soon. One of them will be dead, and the other will (hopefully) win.

He isn't sure which fate he wants for himself. And that honestly scares the shit out of him.

Sid reaches for his scythe, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal as his heart thuds furiously.

 _One_ he counts in his head _Two_ Fuck, he can't believe this is happening _Three_

They jump out and draw their weapons, completely prepared to attack - but Goc covers Götze and yells "Stop!"

Both Sid and Cristiano freeze because - stop? Did he really just tell them to stop?

"We not here to hurt you." Goc says, his voice low and steady.

"Like hell you are." Cristiano hisses, his eyes narrowing. "We're in the Games, why wouldn't you be?" Goc chews on his bottom lip, thinking over his next words.

"We are not the enemy, we are your allies." Goc says, putting his hands up. "You don't have a reason to trust us, but put your weapons down. We're in this together, I swear."

"There's only five of us left, it doesn't make sense to create a four person alliance right now." Sidney points out.

"Well, my dear. Then I guess it's a good thing we're making a five person alliance." Goc returns, smirking proudly. Sidney and Cristiano exchange looks. That doesn't make sense - you can't have a five person alliance with the remaining five people.

_boom_

Something loud crashes behind them, taking Sidney off his feet and he lands on the ground with a thud. The air escapes his lungs and he tries to breath in but the only thing that enters his lungs is dust, which just makes him cough. He attempts to stand up, but a sharp pain shoots up his spin and a piercing ring starts in his head and amplifies quickly, sending him back down to the ground. Sid starts to feel queasy and his chest aches, his lungs try to get in more air but they don't understand there _isn't any_. His eyelids grow heavy, so he let's them slide shut.

"Cris." He whispers, using all his energy to reach his hand out.

A pair of hands pick him up and he can't fight because his body is limp. He tries to keep reopen his eyes to see where they're taking him - but he can't, they keep closing.

He blacks out, and he thinks he'll never regain consciousness.


End file.
